ELPING THE RICH 



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Class _J? 

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Copyright N° 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



HELPING THE RICH 
A PLAY 



HELPING THE 
RICH 

A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS 



BY 



JAMES BAY 



o am c s 




BRENTANO'S 

1920 






COPYRIGHT, I920, BY 

BRENTANO'S 



All rights reserved 

Permission for amateur or professional performance of any kind must first 
be obtained from the publishers, Brentano's, 225 Fifth Ave., New York. 



©CLA601356 
NOV -4 1920 









HELPING THE RICH 



CHARACTERS 

IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE 

Mrs. Foster, Mr. Storm's Housekeeper 

Mr. Peter Storm 

Miss Judith Miller Monroe 

Dr. Robert Brent, Dispensary Doctor 

Mrs. Monroe 

Mr. William T. Monroe 

Winters, the Butler 

Dr. Cleaver, Attending Surgeon, St. Stephen's 

Hospital 
Dr. Talbert, Attending Physician, St. Stephen s 

Hospital 
Patrick Fagan, Registrar of Dispensary 
Miss Daly, Dispensary Nurse 
Mamie Murray 
Angelina Kitchen 
Henry Smith 
First Woman 
Second Woman 
Hermann Klein 
Frank Allen 



Patients in Dispensary 



HELPING THE RICH 

ACT I 

Scene. — Peter Storm's library. 

Time. — A "Tuesday morning, shortly before the 
United States entered into the war. 

A rather large room with a studious atmosphere, 
which is furnished simply but in good taste. To the 
left of the centre of the room is a large table desk littered 
with manuscripts, letters, etc. The desk chair is placed 
so that the occupant faces the right of the room, where 
there is a door leading to the entrance hall. Behind the 
desk in the left wall are double doors which lead to the 
sitting room beyond. At the back of the room, in the 
centre, there is a broad window through which the morn- 
ing light is shining. To the right of this and in the 
corner of the room is an open fireplace, before which 
are several chairs. To the left of the window, the wall 
is covered with a large book-case, before which is a 
small step-ladder and a secretary's desk and chair. 
Mrs. Foster, Peter Storm's housekeeper, a motherly 
old woman, rather wrinkled and bent, but still full of 
energy, is dusting and straightening things, as Peter 
Storm comes into the room. He is a well-built man, 
about thirty-five. There is that about the clean-cut 
features which though distinctive is difficult to define. 

[3] 



HELPING THE RICH 

His eyes have an unusual holding character, and 
about them there is something which suggests that the 
amusing side of any situation is seldom lost. 

Mrs. Foster. She's out there [pointing to the 
halt} — the young woman — waitin' to see you, Mr. 
Peter. 

Peter. Waiting to see me? What young 
woman ? 

Mrs. Foster. Said she was answerin' your ad- 
vertisement. 

Peter. Oh! yes, of course. Pd forgotten it was 
this morning. 

Mrs. Foster. She's young and strong lookin\ 

Peter [sitting down at his desk and commencing 
to look over his mail, suppressing a smile}. That's 
good. 

Mrs. Foster [with a little tremble in her voice}. I 
guess she'll do very well for you, Mr. Peter. 

Peter [apparently not noticing her anxiety, laughs 
with amused surprise as he cuts open the letters}. You 
think she will, eh ? 

Mrs. Foster. I suppose I'm not so useful as I 
once was. 

Peter [looking up with assumed concern}. Not so 
useful, not so useful? What in the world are you 
going on about, Fossie ? 

Mrs. Foster [looking off in the distance}. I 
'tended you when you were a baby, and after — 
when you were a little fellow — after your father 
and mother — God rest 'em — were taken. 

Peter. Yes, I know you did. I remember how 
you used to wash my face and hands for me. 

Mrs. Foster. But if you are getting somebody 

C4] 



HELPING THE RICH 

else [pointing to the half} you'll not be needing me 
any longer, I suppose. 

Peter [going on with his maif]. Certainly not 
to wash my face and hands for me. 

Mrs. Foster. I'm not complainin', Master 
Peter. 

Peter [laughing']* Bless your soul, Fossie! that 
young woman out there is applying for a position 
as secretary — somebody to lick postage stamps — 
to throw advertisements in the wastepaper basket — ■ 
and do that sort of work. 

Mrs. Foster [questioningly and with something 
very like tears in her wrinkled old eyes]. Not to 'tend 
you, then — Not to look out for keepin' house ? 

Peter [quietly going over to her and putting his 
arm tenderly around her stooping shoulders]. Why, 
Fossie, my dear old Fossie, never you get any such 
ideas into your head again. Why, I couldn't get 
along at all, unless I had you to boss me around at 
home, and you very well know it — so go along with 
you, now, and ask her to come in. [After she wipes 
her eyes with the back of her hand and they both have a 
little laugh, she goes out as Peter again sits down at his 
desk and is soon lost in the interest of his letters, which 
he continues to open and read. Mrs. Foster returns, 
bringing the young woman, who is dressed in a street 
costume and is carrying in her hand a newspaper which 
she consults as she enters. She is about twenty-four or 
twenty-five, with a lovely warm coloring and rather 
loose, wavy hair, all of which is heightened in effect 
by the simplicity of her dress.] 

The Young Woman [with a diffident smile to Mrs. 
Foster]. This is "Mr. P. S." who advertised for a 
secretary ? 

Cs] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Mrs. Foster. Yes, that's Mr. Peter Storm — 
he's sitting at his desk over there, Miss. 

[The young woman gives a visible start on hearing 
the name — looks up — then hesitates, as though un- 
decided whether to flee or advance.] 

Mrs. Foster. Oh, you may go right up to him, 
Miss! He's expectin' you. 

The Young Woman [advancing with some hesita- 
tion, as Mrs. Foster withdraws]. You — you ad- 
vertised for a secretary, I believe. 

Peter [looking up, then rising and placing a chair 
beside his desk]. Yes, will you sit down, please? 

The Young Woman [sitting]. Thank you. 

Peter [looks at her for a moment]. You have 
come to apply for that position ? 

The Young Woman [rather weakly]. Yes. 

Peter [picking up a pencil and drawing a piece of 
paper toward him]. May I ask your name? 

The Young Woman. Miss — Miss Miller. 

Peter [about to write, sits looking at his pencil]. 
Your other name, please. 

The Young Woman [starts violently — hesitates 
a moment]. Oh! Oh, yes! Judith Miller. 

Peter [writes]. Judith — ah — ah — Miller 
[looking up]. What experience in this work have 
you had, Miss Miller? 

Judith. None as yet — but but — I can 

manage the typewriter, and I've studied shorthand. 

Peter [writes]. Typewriter — shorthand. 

Judith [with more courage]. And I know French 
and a little Italian. 

Peter. That's very good. 

[The bell rings. Mrs. Foster comes in.] 

Mrs. Foster. There's another young lady. 

[6] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Peter. Ask her to sit down, please. [Then, to 
Judith] I'm finishing a book and I need some one 
to help me get it ready for the publishers. 

Judith. Oh, how interesting! 

Peter. It may be rather shocking. 

Judith. I didn't know society could be shocked 
in these days. 

Peter [with a hearty laugh']. Oh, my, yes! 

Judith. How? 

Peter. By publishing the actual birth rate of 
its good deeds. 

[The bell rings, just as Judith, looking up in 
surprise, is about to speak.] 

Mrs. Foster [coming into the room]. Another 
young lady. 

Peter [as if repeating a formula]. Have her sit 
down, please. [To Judith]. Here is the manu- 
script [drawing a stack of loose sheets toward him]. 
It really didn't take very long to get all the facts 
and figures together of our present society's virtues. 

Judith. May I see it? 

Peter [handing it over]. Oh, certainly. 

Judith [taking it and reading]. What a wonder- 
ful title! [Then, looking inside and reading at the 
head of the chapter] "The Parallel Growth of Private 
Charity and Pauperism." Is it really possible that 
our Charities actually make paupers? Why — why, 
that's a dreadful thought. 

Peter [smiling]. It might be, of course, if the 
poor themselves found it out. 

Judith. But there are so many charities? 

Peter. So much the more interesting when they 
finally uncover our game. 

C7] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Judith. But if Charity was well organized? 

Peter [laughing]. It is well organized, well 
advertised, and does away with any unpleasant con- 
tact between one class and another. 

Mrs. Foster [entering]. Well, I just come in to 
tell you there's seven or eight more of those secretary 
ladies out in the hall. 

Peter [indifferently]. Have them sit down. 

Mrs. Foster. Can't — there's no room. Be- 
sides, I told them there was no use o' their waitin'. 

Peter. You told them that, did you? 

Mrs. Foster. Yes, certainly. I told them 
you'd keep the young lady that was in here with 
you. 

Peter. You did, did you [laughing]. Then 
you'd better go and send the others away. 

Mrs. Foster. What'll I say to 'em? 

Peter. Tell them I'm suited — I mean, that 
you're suited and then come back and show 
Miss Miller where she can hang her things. 

Judith [leaning forward]. Then I may have the 
position — may really go to work? 

Peter. It's all settled. Didn't you hear Fossie 
engage you? 

Judith. Oh, I'm so glad ! But 

Peter. But what? 

Judith. It's so awful! 

Peter. What's so awful? 

Judith. Is there really no such thing as Christian 
charity any more? 

Peter [with a laugh]. Certainly not. It's ef- 
ficiency now. Can't you see Christianity and 
brotherly love are no longer suited to our large 
cities? 

[8] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Mrs. Foster [who has just come in, addresses 
Judith]. If you will come with me, I'll show you 
where you can put your things. 

[She leads her off through the doors into the sitting 
room. Peter wanders to the mantelpiece, and taking 
a photograph of an ocean steamer in his hand, becomes 
lost in thought.'] 

Judith [presently returning, hesitates for a moment 
to disturb his thoughts]. Shall I begin my work? 

Peter [putting the picture back, rather hurriedly]. 
Yes, certainly — of course — We will begin right 
away. This will be your special province — Miss 
Miller — this desk, here [leading her to the small 
desk beside his own]. 

Judith. Oh, think of it! 

Peter [in a business like way]. You may start 
right in by sorting the sheets of this manuscript and 
getting them in order, before we make a final copy. 

Judith [taking the papers to the desk and sitting 
down]. Shall I number the pages a little more 
plainly? You can hardly read some of them. 

Peter. Yes, if you will please. Now I shall 
have to run out for a little while. My publishers 
wish to see me, but I shall be back shortly. If any 
one should call, and the matter seems important, 
keep him. 

Judith. I shall remember. 

Peter [his hand on the door and looking back]. 
It is just possible that a Dr. Talbert of St. Stephen's 
Hospital may call. 

Judith [as the door closes, exclaims]. Oh, I hope not! 

Peter [opening the door again and putting his 
head in]. Or an old gentleman by the name of 
Monroe may drop in. 



HELPING THE RICH 

Judith [as he closes the door again, exclaims in 
fear}. Oh! Oh! [then with a tragic little laugh"}. 
How awful! 

Mrs. Foster [coming in from sitting room}. 
Where's Mr. Peter? [as she goes over to the fireplace 
and makes ready to polish the brass"}. 

Judith [looking very glum}. Gone out for a short 
time. 

Mrs. Foster [looking over to Judith]. You 
don't like this work of bein' secretary, Miss? 

Judith [with a comical smile}. Oh, yes, I do, 
very much. 

Mrs. Foster [as she goes on with her work}. 
Well, you've certainly made a great hit with Mr. 
Peter to start with. 

Judith [with interest}. Do you think so, I 
thought he said you engaged me? 

Mrs. Foster. Don't I know him, Miss? Why, 
I've been takin' care of him 'most his whole life. 

Judith. You have? 

Mrs. Foster. Except, of course, when he goes 
away for studyin', so as to write somethin'. 

Judith. Does he go often? 

Mrs. Foster. Often enough. Once he was 
gone 'most three years. 

Judith. That's a long time. When was that? 

Mrs. Foster. Near nine years now. There's 
the steamer he went off on [pointing to a picture on 
the mantelpiece}. The Ionia is the name of her. 

Judith. Yes, I know her. She's a big ship. 

Mrs. Foster. Tou know her? You must tell 
Mr. Peter that. He's most interested in that 
picture there. 

Judith. I could tell you about a girl who crossed 

[10] 



HELPING THE RICH 

on her once [a starry look comes into her eyes as she 
speaks]. It was years ago, now. She was sixteen 
then — going over to a school in Switzerland. 

Mrs. Foster [looking up with interest]. Now, you 
don't say? 

Judith. Just this girl and her governess. 

Mrs. Foster. Well, well! 

Judith. Such interesting people she met. , 

Mrs. Foster [polishing]. Do tell! 

Judith [dreamily]. But there was one, in par- 
ticular. 

Mrs. Foster [leading her on]. Was there now? 

Judith. One day he played shuffle board ^ith 
her. 

Mrs. Foster. In the dinin' saloon, I s'pose. 

Judith. No! On deck, of course. 

Mrs. Foster. Just fancy that, now. 

Judith. Then after that, he asked her to prome- 
nade. 

Mrs. Foster [puzzled]. To what. 

Judith. Walk with him — just him — every 
day. 

Mrs. Foster. My! My! 

Judith. Sometimes he was very lively, and at 
other times so serious. 

Mrs. Foster [knowingly nodding her head]. The 
motion of the vessel, I s'pose. 

Judith [oblivious]. She liked him best, though, 
when he was serious, — and such talks as they 
did have. 

Mrs. Foster. Talks? 

Judith. About everything — Oh, so interesting! 

Mrs. Foster. Think of that! 

Judith. Sometimes they would sit for hours in 

En] 



HELPING THE RICH 

the sun and let it dry the salt spray on them while 
she listened — and sometimes — [the door bell rings 
bringing them both suddenly back to the reality of the 
moment]. 

Mrs. Foster [jumping up]. Oh! dear! Now, 
who can that be? 

Judith [starting to her feet also as Mrs. Foster goes 
to the door}. Perhaps I had better take my work 
to the other? [looking toward the room beyond], 

Mrs. Foster. Not a bit of it, Miss, not a bit 
of it, — don't disturb yourself. [As she goes in 
response to the bell Judith bends her head over her 
work to hide herself as much as possible , and is ap- 
parently very busy when the door opens and Mrs. 
Foster leads a gentleman into the room. He is in 
the uniform of a medical officer of the army, — a 
young man, twenty-seven or -eight, — tall, dark com- 
plexion, manly, straightforward; yet in his sensitive 
features there is a strange mingling of purpose and 
futility."] 

Mrs. Foster [as she withdraws, and Judith with 
bent head, keeps on working]. Will you wait here, 
sir, please. 

He [looking in Judith's direction]. How soon 
do you think Mr. Storm will return? My name is 
Dr. Brent, and I should like very much to see him. 

Judith [relieved at hearing a strange voice, looks 
up]. Mr. Storm said he would be out only a short 
time. Won't you be seated ? [goes to work again]. 

Dr. Brent [in a matter of fact tone]. Thank you, 
Miss Monroe. 

Judith [looks up in utter amazement]. How do 
you know my name? 

Dr. Brent. Seen you often enough in your 

[12] 



HELPING THE RICH 

father's car, when he's been coming to the hospital — 
St. Stephen's, where he's President of the Board. 

Judith. You have! [then looking at him more in- 
tently\ Oh! I think I recognize you too, now. You 
used to work in the dispensary there. Didn't you? 

Dr. Brent. I still work there. 

Judith. But the uniform. 

Dr. Brent. Oh, I'm on my way to a drill some 
of us doctors are having. 

Judith. Do you really think this country is 
going to get in the war at last? 

Dr. Brent. Nobody knows for certain; so 
we're just drilling up a bit, you see. 

Judith [after a short pause\ Excuse me, but 
are you a friend of Mr. Storm's? 

Dr. Brent [warmly^ I should say so. He and 
I were at school together. Why he was the hero 
of the school and the best friend of all the younger 
boys, and I was the youngest. 

Judith [with a laugh~\ Oh, I'm so glad to hear 
that you and he are friends. 

Dr. Brent [concerned^. He isn't in any trouble, 
is he? 

Judith. No, it is for myself. I'm in a terrible 
mess and I want you to help me, if you will. 

Dr. Brent [politely^. I shall be most glad if I 
can be of any help. 

Judith [with a funny little smile~\. Well, you see 
my father and mother don't know that I'm a work- 
ing girl now, and I mean to get a good start before 
they do. I got this place through an "ad" in 
the paper. 

Dr. Brent. You may depend upon me, I 
sha'n't mention it, Miss Monroe. 

[13] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Judith [excitedly]. Oh! Oh! Oh! but you mustn't 
call me Miss Monroe. !d 

Dr. Brent. Oh, Pm sorry, but I don't think I 
know you well enough to — to — [a bell is heard to 
ring which brings Judith to her feet], 

Judith [peering across the room as if in con- 
templated flight]. Who can that be? 

Dr. Brent. Sounded like a telephone bell. 

Judith [as she sinks into the seat again], I'm all 
on edge. 

Mrs. Foster [entering and addressing Judith J. 
There's some one on the telephone for Mr. Peter. 
Can you tell me where he can be gotten ? 

Judith. He is probably on his way here by now. 

Mrs. Foster [as she withdraws]. Thank you, 
Miss Miller, I'll tell 'em. 

Dr. Brent [raising his eyebrows]. Miss Miller? 

Judith. Yes, if you please — Judith Miller 
Monroe is my name — so Miss Miller, if you please. 
If Mr. Storm knew that I was the rich Miss Monroe 
he — [with the rippling laugh which was one of her 
greatest charms] he might not want to pay my 
wages. 

Dr. Brent. He — He — 

Judith [quickly], I know what you are thinking. 
That he might not think that I was worth any. 
I know that most people believe that when a girl's 
rich, she can't really be in earnest about anything 
that counts. 

Dr. Brent [smiling]. Well, I guess most of 'em 
are only educated for the parlor floor, and that's 
not much use when the cook leaves; but it's not 
generally the girl's fault, I'll say that. 

Judith. Thank you for that last, Dr. Brent. 

[143 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Brent. And so you are going to try it on 
your own now? 

Judith [laughing again]. If not captured, I am. 
But I must go to work. There are some books over 
there. 

Dr. Brent [taking the hint, sits down with a book']. 
Thank you. 

Judith [after a moment's pause, continuing her 
work]. You'll not say anything? 

Dr. Brent. Certainly not, Miss Mon — Miss 
Miller. 

[Peter bursts into the room catching sight of his 
visitor as he enters."] 

Peter. Hello, Bobby Brent — My dear boy, 
and reading one of my own books, upside down too. 
You probably thought it was written that way — 
that's what most people think — well any way, 
I'm mighty glad to see you. 

[Judith takes her work and quietly withdraws to the 
sitting room.] 

Dr. Brent [as he jumps up to meet Peter coming 
across to him with hands outstretched]. Peter, — 
my old friend Peter, how are you after all these 
years? 

Peter. Never better. Come, let's sit down. 

Dr. Brent [as they sit]. You know, Peter, I had 
an awful shock not long ago. I thought you were 
dead. 

Peter. The deuce you did. That was a 
cheery thought. 

Dr. Brent. Saw your name in the papers. 
"Peter Storm dead" it said in big print. And then 
I saw it wasn't you after all, but that old Storm 
who had such a wad of wealth and lived in that old 

[15] 



HELPING THE RICH 

castle like house on Fifth Avenue. He wasn't any 
relative of yours, was he Peter? 

Peter. Uncle, that's all. 

Dr. Brent. You don't say so? 

Peter. My father's oldest brother. 

Dr. Brent. So you've come in for some of the 
big estate? 

Peter. I happen to be the only heir. 

Dr. Brent. You don't mean to say so? Why 
the papers said he was worth millions. 

Peter. In a way, the papers were right, as they 
sometimes are. 

Dr. Brent. What do you mean? 

Peter. He was worth millions at one time, I 
believe. 

Dr. Brent. But not at his death? 

Peter. Nor for some years, but this was not 
generally known. The fact is, it was a conceit of 
the old gentleman's that it should not be known, — - 
so he kept the show up until the cash went. Then 
he went. 

Dr. Brent. And he left you nothing? 

Peter [laughing}. Maybe enough to buy cigars 
with. I don't smoke much. 

Dr. Brent. I say, that is hard luck. 

Peter. On the contrary, it's becoming very 
amusing. In fact it's providing me with more fun 
than I ever thought a legacy capable of. 

Dr. Brent [looking blank}. Amusing? Fun? 

Peter. Exactly. I have now become — it seems 
— the centre — I may say, the very bull's eye for 
all the high class philanthropic archery in the city. 
My popularity as a possible incubator for the in- 
digent has become positively enormous. 

[16] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Brent. Why, Peter, how can you make so 
light of charity? 

Peter. Light of charity ? Don't think it. Why, 
as a matter of fact, I'm very much interested in the 
subject of charity, and all our great philanthropists 
too! I have reason to be. 

Dr. Brent. Reason to be? 

Peter. I think so! One of 'em finished ofF my 
father before I was ten! That started me thinking 
on the ways of our philanthropy. 

Dr. Brent. I don't understand. 

Peter. Naturally, most doctors are on the 
profitable side of alms giving, and don't want to 
understand. 

Dr. Brent. You think that I — ? 

Peter. No, Bobby, not for a moment, if you're 
in"the net, it's because you don't see its meshes. 

Dr. Brent. But your father — ■ How did it 
happen ? 

Peter. Well, if I put the story in a nut shell, 
maybe you'll see the worm. Here it is. My father 
had built up a business in the Middle West, and was 
doing well. Out of a clear sky 'long came one of 
those big trusts which feed on small enterprises, 
came along with its offer to absorb his business — 
or smash it. He put up a fight, but they crashed 
him. 

Dr. Brent [_slowly~]. Ruined him? 

Peter. Yes, but that's an old story. It's not 
the worm. The thing broke his faith and broke his 
health. An infection that was going the rounds got 
him, and he became seriously ill. To save his life, 
they said he should be taken to the hospital. There 
was only the one hospital there, and when he dis- 

[17] 



HELPING THE RICH 

covered that it was the man who had crumpled up 
his life and happiness, who was supporting the 
hospital — offering aid in the name of Christianity, 
to the poor, because it was considered good business 
policy, he refused to be taken there. 

Dr. Brent [intently'}. And so ? 

Peter. Yes, and so he died. My mother fol- 
lowed shortly after, leaving me with the faithful old 
nurse, who opened the door for you today. 

Dr. Brent [visibly stirred}. Is he alive still — 
that man — the head of the big trust? 

Peter [slowly}. I don't know. [Silence in 
which his eyes wander off in thought. Then turning 
suddenly.} It was the system, Bobby, that this 
man represented, which brought out this personal 
story; the vicious system which helps to numb the 
character and suck the blood of self-respect, and to 
break down the spirit of self-support of the poor 
devils who are led to believe that they are actually 
getting something for nothing in these free for all 
hospitals. That's the worm which lies in the nut, 
Bobby! 

Dr. Brent. But, Peter, if we are not going to 
have these hospitals, what in the world is to take 
their place? 

Peter. Give the people hospitals which are 
supported on the merits of medicine and surgery, 
and make them accessible to all people of all classes. 
If such institutions can't support themselves, then 
the doctoring art isn't worth a damn. 

Dr. Brent [questioning}. You would make no 
provision for those who cannot pay? 

Peter. Look here, Bobby, don't you know that 
poverty is a crime? It's society's crime! That's 

[18] 



HELPING THE RICH 

no longer a secret; and that in it we breed the 
anarchists, the Bolshevists, the idle and the ill! 
\ Dr. Brent [persisting}. Mustn't we have hos- 
pitals for them ? 

Peter. Isn't it up to the state to provide all of 
these so-called free institutions; and isn't it up to 
the citizens, the tax payers, to see that they elect 
the kind of officials who will take good and humane 
care of the poor we produce, or import from Russia, 
and also to work toward the prevention of this class? 

Dr. Brent [with enthusiasm]. By Jove, Peter, 
that would not only reduce the sick list, but cut out 
most of the dependents and trouble makers as well. 
Now I wonder that some doctor hasn't thought of 
that. 

Peter [laughing]. It is funny that some doctor 
hasn't thought of it. 

Dr. Brent [nettled]. What the deuce are you 
laughing at any way? 

Peter. Why, Bobby, my boy, I was only joking. 
Didn't you know that supporting a hospital and 
spearing paupers for it is considered our most 
reputable national sport ? Don't it show our big 
American heart? Can you find me an elderly man 
of wealth who will not tell you that next to his game 
of golf it's his most refreshing pastime ? 

Dr. Brent [after a moment 9 s reflection], I guess 
perhaps we doctors haven't given much thought 
to that side of the subject. You see the important 
thing for us, is to have hospitals and clinics provided 
for us. 

Peter. The important thing for the doctors, 
you say? I'm afraid that's so. Yes, I'm very 
much afraid that's so. 

C193 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Brent [innocent of the thrust}. You'll say 
that things — I mean conditions, are pretty bad then? 

Peter [soberly}. It's the clutching after the 
wage slaves with one hand, and flinging out alms 
with the other, — these things bring unrest, dis- 
content, strikes, extravagant demands; whether we 
have war or not, Bobby, you will see the laboring class 
plotting and striking — and — and — maybe worse. 

Dr. Brent. But after this war there may be 
changes. 

Peter. For this country it is hard to say; but 
for Europe yes, there will be changes. Great 
changes. There, there will be a new society. It 
will be a society made of men and women whose 
power will be drawn from courage and accomplish- 
ment and not from check books. 

Dr. Brent. You mean to say they will be 
ahead of us? 

Peter [sadly}. More than ever. 

Judith [appearing at the door with manuscript 
papers in her hand}. Oh! I'm sorry Mr. Storm, 
I thought you were alone. 

Peter. That's all right. Come in, Miss Miller. 

Dr. Brent [looking at his watch}. And I must 
be off too, Peter, or I'll be late for a little drill some 
of us medicos are pulling off this morning. 

Peter. Well, I am glad to see you're going to 
be an army surgeon, for if we do have war, I may 
have personal need for your services — over there. 

Dr. Brent [soberly and bowing to Judith as he 
moves toward the door}. I think they've picked me out 
to do the post-mortem work, when we get there, Peter. 

Peter [looking at Brent with a smile}. Aheml 
Thanks, thanks very much Bobby. 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Brent [with a smile'}- Well, good-bye, 
Peter. Hope to see you soon. 

Peter [as he shakes hands at the door}. The 
* sooner, the better, Bobby. Good bye — 

Judith [as Peter returns to desk}. I have all the 
pages in order, I think. 

Peter [as Judith hands him the MS. and sits}. 
Was it quite a job ? 

Judith. Oh, no! I finished it long ago. I've 
been reading some of it — I hope you don't mind. 

Peter. Well, what do you make of it? 

Judith [with expression of wonder}. I never 
could have believed it possible — that the poor 
people were really being injured instead of assisted 
by all the charity they receive. 

Peter. Well, — No, I suppose not. 

Judith. Do you think that the people who give 
money to these charities are really heartless? 

Peter. By no means — most of them are 
merely thoughtless. 

Judith. But not all of them, I should hope. 

Peter. No, no! Not by any means. Some of 
them are very clever. 

Judith. Oh, I hate to think of it. 

Peter. Nobody does. 

Judith. Do you know if some one could only 
write a play about it. Even if it were only a Shaw 
dialogue, it would be better than nothing. 

Peter. No, no! That would never do. People 
go to the theatre to be amused, not to be exposed. 

Judith. But think of all the people who come 
here to the city after the truth, — how interested 
they would be. 

Peter. People don't come to this city after the 

[21] 



HELPING THE RICH 

truth. They come so as to get away from it, and 
be comfortable. 

Judith. But supposing poor people were told of 
the effect of this charity upon them? 

Peter [with a laugh~\. Society wouldn't thank 
you for that effort. Why, it's about the best bait 
there is for holding them in our big cities to do 
certain kinds of disagreeable, but highly profitable, 
labor; such as working under ground or in danger- 
ous trades, where their lungs are poisoned or their 
legs cut off. 

Judith [horrified^]. How ghastly! 

Peter [continuing]. No, we couldn't run these 
big overcrowded cities with their low breeding 
places of crime and disease, if it wasn't for our 
charity [then with a smile], but then, you know, it 
justifies our luxury. 

Judith [after a moment, anxiously"]. But, — 
but if we stopped our support of the poor people, 
they'd die. 

Peter. Don't you believe it. They'd dig. Yes, 
and they'd go where they could dig, and plant and 
grow food, and pick health and strength from the 
soil; — and likewise honesty. Phew! But this modern 
world is an amusing muddle. Come, Miss Secretary, 
let's go to work. 

Judith [forgetting herself for a moment and looking 
at Peter with wide-eyed admiration]. Do you 
know, Mr. Storm, — [then checking herself suddenly 
looks down with embarrassment, continues]. Oh! 

oh, forgive me please. For a moment I, I, 

[then seeing that she was making the situation rather 
worse than better, impulsively buries her face in her 
hands]. 



HELPING THE RICH 

Peter [with a puzzled look, sits for a moment 
regarding her. Then gently}. What is it? 

Judith [taking her hands down, looks up a little 
flushed}- It's nothing. If you please, shall we go 
to work? [then hurriedly picking up the MS. to 
divert his attention}. Oh, Mr. Storm, I meant to 
ask you, — here, — where you made notes on the 
margin, did you wish me to do anything about 
these in making the copy? 

Peter [looking at the paper}. Oh, yes, of course. 
Those are references to be written in. This, for 
example, in Hardway's text-book — that red book 
up there [pointing}. Do you think you could reach 
it? And I will show you what I mean. 

[Judith goes to book-case. The door bell rings just 
as she reaches up and finds it above her farthest reach. 
Seeing the step-ladder, she puts it in place and 
climbs up. She is about to pull the book out, when 
Mrs. Foster comes into the room, and she turns to 
see who it is.} 

Mrs. Foster. Mr. Peter, there's an oldish 
gentleman — looks like he might be a doctor — 
and I think it's his wife with him — callin' to see 
you. He's takin' off his coat now before comin' in. 

Peter. Who is it, Fossie? 

Mrs. Foster. Said his name was Mr. Williain — 
somethin', I think — Monroe. 

Qudith, hearing her father s name is overcome, and 
clutching at the books to steady herself, succeeds only 
in tipping over the books she has grasped, and she and 
the books come down to the floor with a crash. As 
Peter looks around, she is sitting on the floor in the 
midst of the debris, holding out her left arm as if hurt.} 

Judith. Ouch! Ouch! Oh! 

[23 ] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Peter [going quickly to her]. Are you hurt? 
There! There! Take it easy. 

Judith. I I think I am going to faint. Oh, 

my back hurts, too. 

Peter [to Mrs. Foster, as he helps Judith up]. 
Come here, Fossie — we must get her to the couch 
in the other room. 

Judith [pleading]. Oh, please do, please do! 

Mrs. Foster [standing where she is, panic stricken 
and unable to move]. Shall I go for a doctor? [Then, 
as an inspiration.] Oh! Mr. Peter, there's the old 
gentleman — he's a doctor — I'm sure of it. I'll 
hurry him in. 

Judith [trying to make for the door]. No, no! 
Don't let him in. Don't, don't! I don't need a 
doctor. 

Peter [reassuringly]. Certainly not. Certainly 
not. There! There! \ 

Mrs. Foster. Well, here he comes, I can hear 
him outside the door. 

Judith [as she almost collapses again]. Please, 
please hurry. I must lie down. Please, please! 

Peter [as he helps her along]. Now, take it easy, 
take it easy — we're almost there. Come, Fossie, 
open the door. 

Mrs. Foster [opening the door]. Now, dear, 
you'd better let me get him in to see you. 

Judith [as they go through into the sitting room]. 
No, no, please! 

Peter. There — easy now, — easy [the door 
closes behind them]. 

[From the other side of the room Mr. and Mrs. 
Monroe enter. Mr. Monroe is vigorous looking — 
about seventy — with thick gray hair and a rather 

[24] 



HELPING THE RICH 

florid complexion. He has eyes which are keen and 
bright. His gray mutton chop whiskers and somewhat 
drooping moustache, give him a rather old time ap- 
pearance — the benevolent gentleman of a generation 
back. His black satin stock tie, heavy eyeglass ribbon 
about his neck, and his cutaway coat, all tend to em- 
phasize this effect. Mrs. Monroe is a very fashion- 
ably dressed and somewhat portly woman, some little 
way on in the fifties.] 

Mrs. Monroe [looking around critically']* Do 
you think this is the room the servant meant? 

Mr. Monroe [with a genial grufffoess as he sits]. 
I suppose so, I suppose so. 

Mrs. Monroe [continues peering around]. You 
say, William, he is a student of something or other? 
That he is very clever? 

Mr. Monroe. I believe so, my dear. 

Mrs. Monroe. I wonder if he'll move into the 
Storm Mansion, now. This is no way for a young 
man of his wealth to be living. He'll never be able 
to entertain in this place. 

Mr. Monroe. Can't tell that he wants to, my 
dear. 

Mrs. Monroe. Well, he should. We must have 
him to dinner soon to meet Judith. 

Mr. Monroe [pursing his lips']. So that's why 
you got me here, eh? What's the matter with 
young Van Dusen ? Ain't he rich enough for you ? — 
eh, eh, what? 

Mrs. Monroe. Oh! yes, Freddie has lots of 
money — he could give her everything she could 
want. Do you know, William, I can't make that 
girl out. She treats him just as she treats all of the 
rest of them. 

[25: 



HELPING THE RICH 

Mr. Monroe [grunts}* If she don't shine up 
to the men, get her interested in charity. Let her 
get up a bazaar or something for the hospital. 
We're needin' some advertisement just now. 

Mrs. Monroe. She seems to have found an 
interest already. I discovered that only the other 
day. 

Mr. Monroe. Well that's good — that's good — 
what is it? 

Mrs. Monroe. William, I'm ashamed to tell 
you — I really am. 

Mr. Monroe. Eh! What? What's that? 

Mrs. Monroe [in scandalized tones"]. She has a 
typewriter! ! 

Mr. Monroe [sitting upright]. What! What's 
that you say? 

Mrs. Monroe. She's been studying to be a 
private secretary, she says — learning typewriting, 
and shorthand, and goodness knows what all. Now 
she wants to go to work — wants to be of some use, 
she tells me. 

Mr. Monroe. Wants to work, eh? Well, we'll 
put a stop to that. [Slapping the arms of his chair 
emphatically.] I'd like to find her doing such a 
thing! Wants to be useful, eh? We haven't 
brought up our girl to be — ah — to work. No, 
no, to be sure, to be sure, of course not. 

Mrs. Monroe. I am sorry, William, you should 
be bothered with this, now — and after all we've 
done for her, too. It's too, too disgraceful. And 
with all the trouble you've had lately — and then 
those dreadful doctors at the hospital, with all 
their bad management, and wastefulness. 

Mr. Monroe. My dear, in some respects 

[26] 



HELPING THE RICH 

doctors are like children — and when it comes to 
matters of business, it's best to treat 'em as such. 
Yes, just so, just so. 

Mrs. Monroe. But Dr. Talbert is different, 
haven't you often said so. 

Mr. Monroe. Talbert is a remarkable man, my 
dear — remarkable — he never should have gone 
into medicine. 

Mrs. Monroe. Yes, he is wonderful [_after a 
little pause], William, won't Mr. Storm think it a 
little strange our calling on him this way ? 

Mr. Monroe. Not in the least, my dear, not in 
the least. You don't suppose I'm going to tell him 
what you came for — ah, just so — just so — This 
is just a little social call, my dear — just a little 
social call. I knew his uncle, old friend! old friend! 

Mrs. Monroe. But the Hospital — but St. 
Stephen's — doesn't really need money, does it? 
He won't get the idea that we are here on that 
account ? 

Mr. Monroe. Now, don't get foolish notions in 
your head, my dear, foolish notions [with a -flicker of 
fun in his eyes'}. Everything needs money, of 
course — everything, my dear, — everything. 

Peter [at that moment entering room}. Sorry 
to have kept you waiting. [Bowing] Mrs. Monroe, 
I believe, Mr. Monroe. 

[Mr. and Mrs. Monroe rise.] 

Mrs. Monroe [holding out her hand to Peter]. 
I am so glad to meet you Mr. Storm. 

Peter [with a smile]. It is an unexpected honor. 

Mr. Monroe [taking Peter by the hand]. This 
is just one of my old fashioned notions, Mr. Storm — 
yes, old fashioned notions — yes, just so, just so. 

[27] " 



HELPING THE RICH 

I knew your uncle, — yes — fine old gentleman, 
yes, just so, — you understand — yes, of course, 
of course. 

Peter [to Mr. and Mrs. Monroe]. But won't 
you sit down? 

Mrs. Monroe [as Mr. Monroe sits]. Oh, do 
let me see something of your home first, Mr. Storm. 
Isn't it studious? — Books everywhere [glancing at 
the mass of books on the floor]. I hear you have be- 
come quite famous as a writer, or something [walks 
toward the sitting room]. Now, this is your dining 
room, I expect. A bachelor's house is always so 
exciting — I've heard of bachelor supper parties 
— and lunch parties, but may I peep in ? [Putting 
her hand on the door], 

Peter [quickly"]. Not in there. 

Mrs. Monroe [recoils and steps quickly toward 
the centre of the room]. Oh ! 

Peter [smiling]. That's not the dining room. 

Mrs. Monroe [with a society laugh]. How you 
frightened me, dear Mr. Storm. 

Peter [politely]. Did I? I'm sorry, but won't 
you sit down? 

[They sit, and the next moment's silence is broken 
by a female voice coming indistinctly from the next 
room.] 

Voice [laughter]. Of course I don't need a 
doctor. 

Mrs. Monroe [jumping up]. Good gracious! 
What's that? It sounded very much like a young 
woman's voice [pointing] in that room. 

Peter [smothering a smile]. I thought so, too. 

curtain 

[28] 



ACT II 

Scene. — The drawing room of the Monroe's house. 

New York. 
Time. — Afternoon, same day. 

The heavy hangings of this room, the richly bound 
volumes of books, the furniture, the rugs, ornaments 
and statues tell at a glance that here is at least unusual 
wealth, if perhaps not wholly unusual taste. Mrs. 
Monroe is just putting her teacup on the tray which 
the liveried butler is taking away. Judith is sitting 
on a footstool near her, looking at the annual report of 
St. Stephen s hospital. She is showing no ill effects 
from her recent fall from the step-ladder; in fact she is 
looking very well and happy. 

Mrs. Monroe [in a somewhat petulant tone"]. Ju- 
dith, my dear, I wish you had put yourself out a little 
more to be polite to Mrs. Hopkins this afternoon. 

Judith. I don't like her. 

Mrs. Monroe. How tactless you are! She is a 
very intimate friend of the Tracy Lawrences. 

Judith. And the Tracy Lawrences are snobs. 

Mrs. Monroe [virtuously]. Why, Judith! Mrs. 
Lawrence takes the greatest interest in charitable 
work. 

Judith. One sees that in the newspapers. 

Mrs. Monroe. And I should be glad to see her 
give her interest to our hospital — to St. Stephen's — 
as well. 

[29] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Judith [with a sly little laugh"]. And then per- 
haps she might invite you to her dinner parties. 
[Impatiently."} Why must people always be using 
their charities and their churches to get themselves 
into society or into print — or into something 
else? 

Mrs. Monroe [heatecT]. Judith! I think it is 
time you and I understood each other. 

Judith [demurely smiling]. But don't we, Mama ? 

Mrs. Monroe [her voice slightly raisect]. When 
I think of the years your father has spent in building 
up and adding to St. Stephen's Hospital — of the 
hundreds and hundreds of poor sick people whom 
each year his generosity and devotion have helped 
back to useful and happy lives — which you seem 
so utterly to forget 

Judith [vivaciously]. No indeed, Mama, for 
here [holding up the book she has in her hand] in the 
Annual Report — of — of "good works" — we are 
kept from forgetting. Here on the very first page — 
Mr. William T. Monroe, Chairman of the Financial 
Committee — and, a little further along, Chairman 
of the Committee on Nominations. [She turns a 
page or two.] Here you are, Mother. Mrs. William 
T. Monroe, President of the Woman's Auxiliary and 
Chairman of Committee on Social Service. Oh! 
Oh! — and here's Father again under "Donations" 
— the very first one, — and 

Mrs. Monroe [breaking in]. Judith Miller 
Monroe! Have you no respect? 

Judith [with a merry little laugh, as she throws the 
book on the table]. And still, we haven't been in- 
vited to Mrs. Tracy Lawrence's parties. 

Mrs. Monroe. Judith! 

[30] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Judith. I'm sick of it all. I wish we were just 
plain respectable people with some real friends. 

Mrs. Monroe. How can you talk so, when your 
father and I have given you everything, everything. 

Judith [bitterly"}. Yes, everything except the 
chance to live my own life. 

Mrs. Monroe. But I have plans for you, for 
your happiness, my dear, that you do not even 
suspect. 

Judith [with animation}. I do suspect, and I 
don't like him. The only thing he can talk about 
is Wall Street, and the only thing he can think about 
is Broadway; besides he has a horrid nose. 

Mrs. Monroe [disgusted}. Fve often said to 
your father what a mistake it was that we ever 
allowed you to go off to school in Switzerland that 
winter, with nobody but that governess. 

Judith. Indeed, Mama? 

Mrs. Monroe. Mixing up with all sorts of 
people on a steamer and getting all sorts of ideas. 
You've never seemed to see things in the proper 
way since. 

Judith [a far off look coming into her eyes}. It 
was wonderful ! 

Mrs. Monroe [_after a pause in which Judith sits 
looking dreamily off into the distance}. But come! 
I didn't mean to get your mind off on that un- 
fortunate trip. It's only lucky you did not fall in 
with some poor and utterly unsuitable young man 
while out of our sight. [Noticing Judith's inat- 
tention and speaking in a sharper key.} That at 
least we have to be thankful for. 

Judith [aroused from her thoughts}. Excuse me, 
what was that, Mama? 

[so 



HELPING THE RICH 

Mrs. Monroe [rather pettishly']. It is hardly of 
enough importance to repeat, my dear, but when 
you learn to be more attentive you will be a more 
agreeable companion. 

Judith [the smile of her happy thoughts still linger- 
ing]. I am sorry. 

Mrs. Monroe. The point is — Here you are, 
going on to twenty-five. You will not go out into 
society — you will not take an interest in our 
charity work — and what is to become of you? 

Judith [smiling'}. I can try to do something 
useful, Mama. 

Mrs. Monroe [sarcastically'}. Ridiculous! 

Judith. But I've studied. 

Mrs. Monroe. Why, this is absurd! When 
have you studied? 

Judith [jumping up with a laugh and dancing 
about]. Oh! while you've been having the time of 
your life rushing about at charity teas, and fairs, 
and bridge parties, for the sake of the poor dear 
suffering ones in the hospital. 

Winters [coming in]. Dr. Cleaver is calling to 
see Mr. Monroe, Madam. 

Mrs. Monroe. Ask him to come in here, 
Winters. 

Winters [as he withdraws]. Very good, Madam. 

Judith [as she skips toward the door]. And I 
must go now for my practice — on — the type- 
writer. 

Mrs. Monroe [with a shudder]. Oh! [then with 
a look of wonder]. What has come over her? For 
all the world like a school girl again ! 

Winters [re-entering with Dr. CleaverJ. Dr. 
Cleaver, Madam. 

[30 



HELPING THE RICH 

Mrs. Monroe. Ah! Good afternoon, Dr. 
Cleaver — so glad to see you. 

Dr. Cleaver [a strong, somewhat grizzled man on 
toward sixty, but still holding all he has with a jealous 
hand and reaching out for more']. Good afternoon, 
Madam. Is your husband at home? 

Mrs. Monroe [lavishing a social smile]. Not 
yet. But do sit down, Doctor. I hear you are 
quite the rage this winter — that no woman is 
really smart unless she has been seen in your waiting 
room. But won't you sit down ? 

Dr. Cleaver [with rather a gruff voice, as they sit]. 
The only way for a woman to keep well is to keep 
in fashion. 

Mrs. Monroe. But tell me, — the hospital, — 
I hope that is flourishing! 

Dr. Cleaver. Flourishing? the devil, it's 
floundering! 

Mrs. Monroe [in alarm]. Why — but what can 
you mean? I don't understand. 

Dr. Cleaver. None of 'em seem to. 

Mrs. Monroe. Oh! this is dreadful! Does 
Mr. Monroe — does my husband know? 

Dr. Cleaver [laconically]. He sent for me. 

Mrs. Monroe. What has happened — what is it? 

Dr. Cleaver. Oh, the same old story. 

Mrs. Monroe. But what is it? Are the nurses 
dissatisfied again — have they struck? 

Dr. Cleaver [almost roaring]. No! I wish 
to — I wish they had.] We'd get a new lot of 'em 
then. 

Mrs. Monroe [visibly stirred]. It can't be that 
the Ladies' Auxiliary — you know I'm President 
of that, Doctor, — has done anything? 

[33] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Cleaver. Never has done anything that I 
know of — er — er — that is — the trouble's not 
there, Mrs. Monroe. 

Mrs. Monroe [oblivious"]. If you knew how 
anxious I am! 

Dr. Cleaver. But they would do it. 

Mrs. Monroe. Do what? 

Dr. Cleaver. Do what? Why put this extra 
story on the Hospital for Cripples — "Little Sun- 
shine Heaven/' they called it. 

Mrs. Monroe. But what have they got to do 
with it? 

Dr. Cleaver. The cripples? They've got 
nothing to do with it — but " Little Sunshine 
Heaven" has. 

Mrs. Monroe [looking perplexed], I don't un- 
derstand it at all — at all. 

Dr. Cleaver. None of 'em seem to — that's 
the trouble — none of 'em. 

Mrs. Monroe [still perplexed]. Do the Trustees 
know of this? 

Dr. Cleaver. They ought to — I've told 'em 
what would happen — but they insisted. 

Mrs. Monroe. Insisted? 

Dr. Cleaver. Yes, they would do something — 
go into some fresh expense. The same old thing 
over again; spend money they didn't have. 

Mrs. Monroe. But the hospital's rich. 

Dr. Cleaver. Rich? Did you ever see a hos- 
pital that was rich, Madam? 

Mrs. Monroe. But St. Stephen's 

Dr. Cleaver. Why, it's mortgaged to the hilt, 
and going behind more every year. 

Mrs. Monroe. But surely 

[34] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Cleaver [waving his head like a bear}. Would 
have it — nothing else to be done. St. Peter's Hos- 
pital was beating us out, and they had to raise the 
ant — raise the "Little Sunshine" to show 'em 
what we could do. 

Mrs. Monroe [proudly}. But my husband is 
rich. 

Dr. Cleaver. Rich — of course he's rich. He 
can afford a big steam yacht — two of 'em, if he 
wants to — but when it comes to hospitals — well, 
I told 'em they were travelling too fast. 

Mrs. Monroe [in despair}. And now what is 
going to happen? 

Dr. Cleaver. She's going to turn turtle, I guess. 

Mrs. Monroe [in amazement}. To what? 

Dr. Cleaver [brutally}. Turn turtle — topple 
over — go under — sink! That's plain enough, 
isn't it? 

Mrs. Monroe [choking}. Oh! What shall I do? 
What shall I do? I'll never be able to face those 
other women of St. Peter's and the Infirmary again — 

Mrs. Hopkins — Mrs. Tracy La , Oh ! It's too 

awful! And if I do not have St. Stephen's I shall 
have nerves again, I know I shall. 

[Dr. Cleaver, thrusting his hands in his pockets 
and waving his bushy head, starts to walk up and down 
in impatience.} 

Winters [enters and somewhat startled by the situa- 
tion, hesitates a moment — then announces:}. Dr. 
Talbert, Madam, to see Mr. Monroe. 

Mrs. Monroe [confusecT}. I'm not at home — 
I'm out, Winters. 

Winters [with dignity}. To see Mr. Monroe, 
Madam. 

C3S] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Mrs. Monroe [wearily'}. Have him come in, 
Winters. [To Dr. Cleaver.] Oh, dear! I think 
one of my old headaches is coming on. I must 
leave Dr. Talbert with you. 

Dr. Cleaver [professionally}. By all means, by 
all means — too bad — really, too bad. No doubt 
something has disagreed with you — yes — yes no 
doubt. 

Mrs. Monroe [as she leaves}. Yes, I think there 
is no doubt about it, Doctor. 

Dr. Talbert [comes into the room with a stride — 
a man of about fifty-five, a little below the average 
height and a little above the average breadth — spare 
light hair — a roundish face — very bright eyes — a 
very positive manner — spontaneous chuckling laugh 
which somewhat gives the inner man away; a plausible 
politician — so plausible that but few find it out, but 
for all that and the small matter of having no conscience, 
he is a delightful man — buoyant, cheerful and jolly. 
Hello, Cleaver! What you doing here? Ha! ha! 

Dr. Cleaver [coming to a halt and looking at Dr. 
Talbert]. Same errand that you're on, I guess. 

Dr. Talbert. Hospital? 

Dr. .Cleaver [with vehement disgust}. Yes, and 
a damn rotten piece of business it's going to be, too. 

Dr. Talbert. Oh, we'll pull out! [leans easily 
against a chair.} 

Dr. Cleaver [bursting out}. Well, I tell you, 
Talbert, if something isn't done to float her [im- 
pressively jabbing down with his finger} she's going 
under. 

Dr. Talbert [chuckling}. Cleaver, you're in 
good form this afternoon. Ha, ha! Ha, ha! 

Dr. Cleaver. You'd be too, if you were on the 

[36] 



HELPING THE RICH 

surgical end of it up there — and had all your eggs 
in the one basket. 

Dr. Talbert. Perhaps that's right, Cleaver. 

Dr. Cleaver [striking the table with his fist]. Damn 
it, man! If the thing goes to smash, Fm done for. 

Dr. Talbert. Pshaw, Cleaver! You're on the 
top of the heap. 

Dr. Cleaver. And how did I get there? 

Dr. Talbert. By helping them with their 
hospital — by helping old Monroe, of course — that's 
good business. 

Dr. Cleaver. Exactly. And what could we 
have done without their money — without the hos- 
pital? That's what's built us up — made us. 
[Then, with a sigh. ~\ And think of all those private 
rooms I got them to put in, too. 

Dr. Talbert [chuckling'}. They have to have 
us doctors, you know. Ha, ha! 

Dr. Cleaver [disgusted}. Yes, but if St. Stephen's 
goes bust, we go bust. You know that, Talbert. 
And there's no money in helping the poor. 

Dr. Talbert. Why, man! if you did that, you'd 
be as poor as one of the twelve apostles yourself, 
before you knew it. 

Dr. Cleaver. No argument there, Talbert. 

Dr. Talbert [in a half confidential tone}. Help 
the rich, they know their game. That's my motto. 

Dr. Cleaver. Do you know, I sometimes 
wonder if the poor wouldn't actually be better off if 
they weren't given alms. 

Dr. Talbert. Now — now don't go and get 
sentimental, Cleaver; that's not our funeral. Better 
stick to my motto — "Help the rich, they know their 
game." Ha, ha! 

[37] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Cleaver. Don't worry, Talbert, I shan't 
stir up anything. Fm in too deep for that. 

Dr. Talbert [waving his hand around, by way of 
changing the topic, and pointing to some of the statuary 
and ornaments}. Say, Cleaver, did you ever notice 
any of these relics the old man has here? Some 
pretty costly ones among 'em, I guess. 

Dr. Cleaver. Costly? They'd keep several fami- 
lies out of the poor-house for what they cost, I imagine. 

Dr. Talbert [with a cunning smile'}. They put 
several families into the poor-house, before they 
could be purchased — from what I've heard of his 
Trust's way of doing business! Ha, ha! Ha, ha! 

Dr. Cleaver. Ugh! Talbert, and this is what 
we doctors must sell our souls for, if we are going to 
succeed. 

Dr. Talbert. Come, come, Cleaver, let's change 
the subject — What's new at the Hospital? 

Dr. Cleaver. Yes, yes! that reminds me. Did 
young Hooker come to you about getting the job 
as surgical assistant? 

Dr. Talbert. He did not. 

Dr. Cleaver. Well, he came to see me. 

Dr. Talbert [giving Cleaver a sly look and a 
nudge}. He'd be able to help you fill some of those 
private rooms, Cleaver. 

Dr. Cleaver. Humph! I think I can attend 
to that myself. 

Dr. Talbert [confidentially}. They say he's a 
friend of the family, here — very intimate. 

Dr. Cleaver [showing surprise}. The deuce, 
you say? 

Dr. Talbert. Ha, ha! Ha, ha! Well, never 
mind, Cleaver; we can side-track that, I guess. 

[38] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Cleaver [attentive}. You don't say! How? 

Dr. Talbert. Slip in some one else. 

Dr. Cleaver. Have you any one to propose? 

Dr. Talbert. Come to think of it, I can think 
of one or two. 

Dr. Cleaver [interested}. Do I know them ? 

Dr. Talbert [indifferently}. Now, I wonder if 
you do? Oh, while I think of it, Cleaver! I guess 
you are going to be the next President of the Surgical 
Society — in fact, Pve practically fixed it. 

Dr. Cleaver [interested}. Really, do you think 
you can put that through? I'll be mighty grateful 
to you. 

Dr. Talbert. Practically sure of it — but now 
— what were we talking about? 

Dr. Cleaver. That position of surgical as- 
sistant. 

Dr. Talbert. Oh, yes, to be sure! I wonder if 
you know my younger brother? He'd be just the 
man for you. He'd do what you wanted, too. 

Dr. Cleaver. Never occurred to me — Why, 
of course, I know him. 

Dr. Talbert. How about it? 

Dr. Cleaver. I'll think it over. 

Dr. Talbert. Think it over! There's no time, 
man! — That fellow, Hooker, — with his influence 
here [pointing downward} will get the job sure. 

Dr. Cleaver. Perhaps that's so — Perhaps 
that's so. 

Dr. Talbert. Not a word, Cleaver, not a word. 
We'll fix it at the next meeting — slip our candidate 
right through before their eyes are open. [Then 
rapidly.} It's about time the old man showed up 
[looking at bis watch}. Don't you think so ? 

[39] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Cleaver. Gad, Talbert! I hope Monroe'll 
be able to tide things over for St. Stephen's. It's 
a big sum of money, though, that's needed, and I 
don't know where else we're going to get it. 

Dr. Talbert. Well, he won't. I'll tell you 
that, right now. 

Dr. Cleaver. He won't ? Why, it's the apple of 
his eye, — President of the Board of Trustees — 
he's prouder of that title than anything else he has. 

Dr. Talbert. Ha, ha! He ought to be — it 
cost him more. Ha, ha! But just the same, he 
won't because he can't. 

Dr. Cleaver. What do you mean, Talbert? 
\JViping his brow.] 

Dr. Talbert [coming close]. Now, this is 
strictly confidential — just between you and me. 

Dr. Cleaver [attentive]. 

Dr. Talbert. He's been hit, and pretty hard. 

Dr. Cleaver. Hit? 

Dr. Talbert. In the Street — in Wall Street. 
Lost a lot of money lately. [In a low voice.] His 
broker happens to be a patient of mine. 

Dr. Cleaver. He told you? 

Dr. Talbert. No, no! Certainly not! I found 
it out by accident, of course. 

Dr. Cleaver [utterly dejected]. By God ! Then, 
Talbert, we're done for, eh ? 

Dr. Talbert [his eyes sparkling, goes off into a 
long fit of laughter]. Ha, ha! Not by a jugful are 
we done for. Ha, ha! Ha, ha! 

Dr. Cleaver [thrusting his hands in his pockets — 
waving his protruded bushy head, — growls]. It's a 
fine joke — a very fine joke, Talbert. Humph! 

Dr. Talbert [impressively]. Say, does the name 

[40] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Storm — Peter Storm — convey anything to your 
mind ? 

Dr. Cleaver. Umph! It ought to. I operated 
on him some years ago, and I distinctly remember 
that it conveyed something to my pocket. 

Dr. Talbert. The old fellow has only just died 
here lately, and he was a rich man, Cleaver. 

Dr. Cleaver. But you're clever, Talbert — ■ 
you always have an eye out when the rich ones die. 

Dr. Talbert. It's just as well. The young heirs 
often need a little guidance in their benevolent 
budding, you know, Cleaver. 

Dr. Cleaver [with a gruff laugh"]. Go on talking, 
Talbert, I like to hear your voice. 

Dr. Talbert. Well, here it is. Young Peter 
Storm, a nephew of the old man, is the sole heir. 

Dr. Cleaver. Yes, yes! 

Dr. Talbert. And by the merest chance I have 
become acquainted with him. 

Dr. Cleaver [with a rough laugh"]. Those merely 
chance meetings of yours — go on, Talbert. 

Dr. Talbert. Well, he's promised to come here 
this afternoon. You know we have a vacancy on 
the Board of Trustees ? 

Dr. Cleaver [admiringly]. Talbert, how do you 
do it? 

Dr. Talbert [murmuring]. And what Monroe 
says, goes; and there's not much doubt but that the 
old man will greet the sight of a sail, after that 
little squall down in the stock market. 

Dr. Cleaver [much taken]. By gad, Talbert! 
this may solve the whole problem. Does Storm seem 
interested ? 

Dr. Talbert [puzzled]. Can't make out. 

[40 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Cleaver. What sort of chap is he? What's 
his business? 

Dr. Talbert. He has some sort of literary pur- 
suit or other — but he's no fool. 

Dr. Cleaver [with blunt sarcasm]. Have you 
told him all about the splendid work the hospital 
is doing — all the suffering which is relieved there — 
how grateful the poor are for our kindness — what 
great public benefactors we are? 

Dr. Talbert. I've poured it into him. 

Dr. Cleaver. How does he take it? 

Dr. Talbert. He listened attentively. 

Dr. Cleaver. The deuce! And did you explain 
what it means in the public eye to have one's name 
on a Hospital Board, such as St. Stephen's — the 
great respect and admiration such a position always 
assures — the public notice which it brings? 

Dr. Talbert. He's not the sort to fall for that 
stuff, Cleaver. 

Dr. Cleaver. Now, that's probably just where 
we'll get him — it seldom fails — that's human nature. 

Dr. Talbert. Well, he's consented to come here. 
That'll do to start with, all right. 

[Mr. Monroe comes into the room, followed by 
Winters, who takes his hat and coat as he removes them,] 

Mr. Monroe. Sorry, gentlemen, very sorry not 
to have been here when you arrived. How are you 
today, Talbert? [shaking hands']. Humph! And 
you, Cleaver? Let us sit down. I have just been 
going over the books of the Hospital again this 
afternoon, with our Treasurer. Yes, with our 
Treasurer. 

Dr. Cleaver [with some anxiety]. And what is 
the outlook, sir? What do you make of it? 



HELPING THE RICH 

Mr. Monroe [deliberately and ominously']. The 
worst! There seems to be no alternative. I am 
afraid we must close its doors, unless — 

Dr. Cleaver. Unless ? 

Mr. Monroe. We can solicit the interest of some 
one with very considerable wealth. 

Dr. Cleaver. Unfortunately, most of them have 
their charitable connections made. 

Dr. Talbert. But not all — not all. Ha, ha! 
Ha, ha! 

Mr. Monroe [turning quickly and with interest]. 
You know of none such, Talbert? You know of 
none such? 

Dr. Talbert. I know of one such. 

Mr. Monroe. You do? 

Dr. Talbert. And more, I have asked him to 
meet us here today. He is the sole heir of the 
recently lamented Peter Storm. 

Mr. Monroe [raising his eyebrows]. Ah — so — 
here? You say — you have asked him to meet us 
here? [Then with a smile.] Talbert, I see you are 
still an early riser! 

Dr. Talbert. Ha, ha! Reports put the in- 
heritance 

Mr. Monroe Yes, yes, I know! Very high — 

very high [spreading his hands]. But what can 

we offer him ? 

Dr. Talbert. W-e-1-1. There's that vacancy 
on the Board of Trustees. 

Mr. Monroe [suddenly reserved^]. Tut, tut! We 
must not go too fast — not too fast. With his 
wealth and that position 

Dr. Cleaver. The Board are with you? 

Mr. Monroe. Yes, yes, I believe so, — I be- 

[43 ] 



HELPING THE RICH 

lieve so. [In an undertone^] They ought to be — 
I put them in myself. 

Dr. Talbert [pressing the subject]. There's not 
much time to choose. 

Mr. Monroe [with deliberation]. Humph! I must 
consider this. 

Dr. Talbert. I heard today that one of the 
Trustees of St. Peter's 

Mr. Monroe [keenly]. Eh? What's that — 
what's that about St. Peter's? 

Dr. Talbert. — had been seen talking with Mr. 
Storm. 

Mr. Monroe [leaning forward and speaking very 
emphatically]. Then we must have him on our 
Board — that settles it! [After a moment's pause 
he gets up — the others following him — and they 
proceed into the next room.] Talbert, you are a 
remarkable man — yes, yes, — quite remarkable! 
Now, gentlemen, I would like to get your opinion 
on some plans I have for another addition to the 
Hospital. Yes, yes! Just so! I was really com- 
mencing to fear — yes, yes — but come and see — 
come and see. [They disappear.] 

[A moment or two elapses, when Winters comes to 
the door, — standing to one side to let Dr. Brent 
enter.] 

Dr. Brent. Will you say to Mr. Monroe, please, 
that I should like to speak to him on a matter 
which concerns the Dispensary at St. Stephen's. 
My name is Dr. Brent, and I am one of the staff 
there. 

Winters [stiffly]. Mr. Monroe is engaged just 
now, — but if you will be seated 

Dr. Brent [as Winters withdraws]. Thank 

[44] 



HELPING THE RICH 

you. [He sits down and is quietly waiting, when 
Winter's voice is heard outside.] 

Winters. If you will step this way, Mr. Storm, 

please [Winters appears at the door, bowing 

and speaking with marked respect as he stands aside 
for Peter to enter.] Dr. Talbert is expecting you 
sir — if you will kindly 

Peter [unimpressed]. That's all right. [Then 
seeing Brent.] Hello, there, Bobby! I didn't 
think we'd be meeting again so soon. What are 
you doing here? [As Winters withdraws Peter 
and Brent greet each other with a hand shake."] 

Dr. Brent [earnestly']. Nor did I. I've come 
to see if I couldn't get some of the managers of the 
Hospital to take some personal interest in the pa- 
tients who come in the Dispensary. 

Peter. Whew! Bobby! but you're ambitious. 
But say, you don't mean to tell me it's St. Stephen's, 
where you work? 

Dr. Brent. Yes, why do you ask? 

Peter. Oh, no special reason — it just struck 
me as being funny — that's all — that the hospital 
where you are — well — 

Dr. Brent. Peter, what are you driving at? 

Peter. Look here, Bobby! Do you know why 
Vm here this afternoon ? 

Dr. Brent. Can't imagine. Thought you were 
down on riches. 

Peter. By no means. It takes brains to make a 
lot of money. Not the best kind of brains to be 
sure, still it takes brains. 

Dr. Brent. Then why are you here ? 

Peter [with a sort of grin]. Be hanged if I know! 
Now just listen to this, Bobby. Ever since my 

[45] 



HELPING THE RICH 

uncle's death, it seems as if about every charity in- 
stitution in town had taken a crack at me. Their 
solicitors, or trustees, or doctors have called on me 
or stopped me in the street — or in the club — to 
ask me to subscribe, or donate, or become a life 
member, or have my name put on a brass tablet 

Dr. Brent [as Peter pauses to take breath^ How 
do you ever get rid of them ? 

Peter. Oh, that part's easy enough! The first 
chance I get to speak, I simply state my circum- 
stances. Presto! The conversation swings. An 
engagement elsewhere is suddenly thought of. 
Naturally they don't tell any one else they've 
barked up the wrong tree. But in the present in- 
stance, it didn't work out that way. 

Dr. Brent. What do you mean? 

Peter. I mean this, Bobby; that in the case of 
St. Stepehn's Hospital, it didn't end that way. 

Dr. Brent. That is, they wouldn't believe it 
when you told them you weren't rich? — that's 
what you mean? 

Peter. Bobby, in this case I didnt tell them I 
wasn't rich. 

Dr. Brent [opening his eyes wide~\. What! You 
led them to believe ? 

Peter. I led them to believe nothing. Some- 
thing seemed to hold my tongue, and when this man 
Talbert finally asked me if I wouldn't come here 
this afternoon, I said I would. And this is the 
point — [going up close to Brent] for the life of 
me, Bobby, I can't tell you why I did it. 

Dr. Brent. That's strange. 

Peter. Strange! Why the thing is positively 
uncanny. 

[46] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Brent. There must be some reason, of course. 

Peter. Of course there is, but what is it ? That's 
the pyzzle. [Pause.] See here, Bobby, have you 
happened to read any of that psychologist fellow — 
Mitchell's stuff — on impressions which seem to get 
lost in the subconscious — a name, — a face for 
instance; — which, though we've forgotten, we 
really haven't forgotten. Can it be something of 
this sort? 

Winters [entering hurriedly, with a little slip 
of paper in his hancT\. Dr. Brent, here's a message 
just come by telephone for you, sir [handing the 
paper]. 

Dr. Brent [looking at the slip"]. Oh, yes, I 
know! Thank you. [To Peter.] Peter, I must 
be off. This is an urgent case — I wish I didn't 
have to hurry away. 

Peter [as Brent starts for the door}. Sorry, too, 
Bobby, old man, but good luck to you [waving good- 
bye}. 

[Left alone, he wanders about the room, when his 
eye falls on some ornaments in which he becomes in- 
terested. Dr. Talbert enters, followed by Mr. 
Monroe and Dr. Cleaver.] 

Dr. Talbert. Ha, ha! There you are, Mr. 
Storm! I've just been telling Mr. Monroe and Dr. 
Cleaver about our fortunate meeting, and your 
interest in what our great hospitals are doing for 
the poor. 

Peter [with the shadow of a smile, as he joins them]. 
They're the making of the poor. I feel pretty sure 
of that. 

Dr. Talbert [missing it]. Ha, ha! Bravo! 
Now, let me introduce you to Mr. Monroe. 

[47 ] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Mr. Monroe [smiling, and shaking hands']. Had 
that pleasure before — eh? yes, just so, just so! 
Glad to see you are interested in our work, Mr. 
Storm. Shake hands with Dr. Cleaver — he is our 
great surgeon. 

Dr. Cleaver. Glad to meet you, Mr. Storm, very. 

Mr. Monroe. Suppose we sit down, gentle- 
men — ah, just so, just so. 

Dr. Talbert [to Mr. Monroe, as they sit}. You 
will tell Mr. Storm why we wished him to meet us 
here today, will you not sir? 

Mr. Monroe [with a non-committal expression}. 
The matter is this, Mr. Storm. There is need for 
younger men at our hospital — at St. Stephen's. 
From what Dr. Talbert has told me, I should say we 
would be very fortunate, if we could secure your 
co-operation and advice. Yes, yes! just so! 

Peter [with a slight smile}. There is no chance 
that Dr. Talbert has made a mistake? 

Dr. Cleaver [leaning forward}. Mr. Storm, we 
simply can't take no for an answer. You are the 
man we want. 

Mr. Monroe [with dignified emphasis]. As a 
member of our Board of Trustees, Mr. Storm. 

Peter [fencing]. I'm afraid my advice might 
not be helpful. 

Mr. Monroe [waving the idea away]. Tut, tut! 
You are too modest, sir — too modest. 

Dr. Cleaver. You should allow us to be the 
judges, Mr. Storm. 

Dr. Talbert. Ha, ha! He is too modest. 
Now, I should say that's just the sort of man whose 
advice is really good — eh, Cleaver? 

Mr. Monroe [patting Peter on the shoulder, and 

us] 



HELPING THE RICH 

smiling"]' You see, your opinion is quite over- 
ruled, Mr. Storm, — quite over-ruled. 

Peter. Now, if it was a substantial sum of 
money ? 

([Dr. Cleaver almost bounds from his chair, but 
is gently pushed back by Mr. Monroe. Dr. Tal- 
bert starts forward also, but controls himself. Peter's 
face remains impassive, though a close observer might 
see a stray sparkle in his eyes.] 

Mr. Monroe. Tut, tut! Mr. Storm. Why 
make an allusion to the material side. Yes, yes! 

quite so, quite so . Of course, later on, if you 

see that there is any little need in that direction — 
you understand, of course — yes, yes — quite so — 
quite so! 

Peter. I think I understand. [Rising, as if to 
go.] And I shall certainly treasure the memory of 
this meeting. [Then, to Mr. Monroe.] What a 
fine statue that is over there. I was struck with it 
the moment I saw it. 

Mr. Monroe [without much interest]. Oh, yes! 
I picked that up in an auction sale out in the Middle 
West — must be twenty-five years ago — yes, just 
so, just so! 

[The others have risen also. Dr. Cleaver pulls 
Dr. Talbert to one side..] 

Dr. CLEAVER^m a whisper]. It's St. Peter's 
Hospital, Talbert. They've got him there; that's 
why he's holding us off. 

Dr. Talbert. Hush, man, he'll hear you. 

Winters [entering]. Did you ring, sir? 

Mr. Monroe. No. 

Winters. I beg pardon, Mr. Monroe — the 
gentleman calling to see you, had to leave, sir. 

[49] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Mr. Monroe. What gentleman? What are 
you talking about, man? What are you talking 
about ? 

Winters. Dr. Brent, he said his name was, sir — 
works in the Dispensary at the Hospital, sir. 

Mr. Monroe [turning to Dr. Talbert]. Who 
is Dr. Brent? Do you know, Talbert? 

Dr. Talbert. I have reason to — he's given 
us enough trouble in the Dispensary. 

Mr. Monroe [to Winters]. You may go. 

Winters [withdraws]. Very good, sir. 

Mr. Monroe [to Dr. Talbert]. Enough trouble? 

Dr. Talbert. Trouble! Ha, ha! I should say 
so. Ask Cleaver. 

£Dr. Cleaver leaves Peter standing apart, and 
joins them. Peter looks at ornaments.'] 

Mr. Monroe [to Dr. Cleaver]. Trouble in the 
Dispensary? What's this, Cleaver? 

Dr. Cleaver. Truth is, he's no good there. 
Never should have been given the job in the first 
place. 

£Peter, though apparently indifferent, is now pay- 
ing strict attention.] 

Mr. Monroe. What's the trouble? 

Dr. Cleaver. Well, he's not got the snap we 
need in a man there. He's too slow — he takes 
too much time over each patient — too careful, 
I guess — any way, we don't get the material in 
the wards we ought to have — the beds go empty — 
our operations have fallen off — that makes the 
records too slim. 

Mr. Monroe. Yes, yes! But that's hardly the 
thing to take action on. 

Dr. Talbert. How about stealing patients 

[50] 



HELPING THE RICH 

from the Dispensary — getting them to go to his 
office for a fee? Wasn't there something of that 
sort, Cleaver? 

Dr. Cleaver. I think there was. Dispensary 
patients have been seen going to his office, I under- 
stand. 

Mr. Monroe. That's a pretty serious charge, 
unless you have the evidence, eh? A young doctor's 
career is about gone, if he goes out that way. You 
know that, Talbert. 

Dr. Talbert. We'd better get him out. He's 
no help to the service. What do you think, Cleaver? 

Dr. Cleaver. Yes, yes! I think so. 

Dr. Talbert. I can get the evidence all right, 
I guess. Better have him up on charges next meet- 
ing. I'll attend to the details. 

Mr. Monroe. Well, gentlemen, you should 
know what's best for the Hospital. We can't have 
our records run behind. Now that St. Peter's has 
got that new wing, they are pressing us pretty 
hard — pretty hard. 

Dr. Talbert. When's the next meeting? 

Dr. Cleaver. Let's see. Today's Tuesday. 
Yes, it's tomorrow afternoon. 

Dr. Talbert. Not much time, but we can have 
this end of the meeting right down in the Dispensary. 
Don't need to be too formal, either. Leave it to 
me, gentlemen. We'll have the evidence there, too. 
Ha, ha! 

[The group breaks up, and, as they see Peter, give 
a start of surprise and slight embarrassment at having 
forgotten his presence."^ 

Mr. Monroe [to Peter]. A thousand pardons 
for this little interruption, Mr. Storm. Just a small 

[51] 



HELPING THE RICH 

hospital matter to settle, — very sorry — very. 
Yes, yes, just so! 

Peter. Don't mention it, Mr. Monroe. I was 
glad of this opportunity to think over your offer. 

Dr. Cleaver [starting forward^ Favorably, I 
hope, Mr. Storm? Favorably, I hope? 

Dr. Talbert. Yes, yes, Mr. Storm? 

Mr. Monroe. Ah, just so, just so! There's the 
place on the Board, Mr. Storm — eh, what? 

Peter [slowly^ You may expect me at the next 
meeting. 



CURTAIN 



[52] 



ACT III 

Scene. — Dispensary of St. Stephen's Hospital. 
Time. — Next afternoon. 

A large white-walled apartment, with red tiled floor. 
Six or eight feet away from the left wall, where the 
entrance door and a good-sized window are, is a railing 
about three feet high, which runs back to within a 
couple of feet of a booth with a window in its cage-like 
upper half, much the same as one usually sees in 
city shops for the cashier. In this booth sits the 
registrar on a high stool, admitting and directing the 
patients as they come in. These are known as the 
out-patients of the hospital, as their sickness or injury 
does not confine them to bed. Inside the rail is a con- 
siderable space occupied only by two or three long 
wooden benches. On the right side of the room, and 
protected from publicity by an ordinary white hospital 
screen, is an operating table, a cabinet, an instrument 
table, and the other usual appliances for the care of 
emergency cases applying to the dispensary. Further 
back, in the right wall, is the door leading to the lower 
floor of the hospital. In the centre of the back wall 
is a broad doorway leading to the main department 
of the dispensary, and so labelled in large black letters 
above it. Through the doorway can be seen more 
benches and other doors, also labelled — "Medical" 
"Surgical," etc. The bare walls are relieved only by 
one or two placards giving the rules of the institution, 
and by the framed dispensary certificate which institu- 

E53] 



HELPING THE RICH 

tions acting within the law must exhibit. It is nearing 
the closing hour, and Patrick Fagan, the Registrar, 
is admitting the last of the patients, who are crowding 
their way to the window, in order to get in before the 
time is up and no more admissions are made. 

Fagan [to the patients'}. Here, here! Stop yer 
shovin' there! This ain't a steamboat excursion. 
[Then, as a young woman in cheap finery, crowned 
by a hat — a creation in size and color — pushes up 
to the window.} You been here before? 

Young Woman. Sure. 

Fagan. Where's your card? 

Young Woman. You know, it's a funny thing 
about that card. I had it the other day 

Fagan [cutting her short, angrily}. You've lost 
it, you mean ? 

Young Woman. I just couldn't find it when I 
was comin' out. 

Fagan. You'd try the patience of the saints — 
the way ye keep losin' them tickets. Well, see 
you hang on to this wan. What's yer name? 

Young Woman. Mamie Murray. 

Fagan [writing on a card and handing it to her]. 
Pass in. Next! 

Second Young Woman [dressed as first, but not 
nearly so gaudily]. I'm with this young lady what's 
just gone in. 

Fagan. Been here before? 

Second Young Woman. No, sir. 

Fagan. Ye know the rules of this clinic? 

Second Young Woman. What rules? 

Fagan. Well, read 'em up on the back of this 
card. What's yer name? 

[54] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Second Young Woman. Miss Angelina Kitchen. 

Fagan [writing on card]. Miss Angelina Kitchen. 
Now see you don't lose this [pushes it out to her}. 
Take a seat on the bench. 

[Miss Kitchen steps in and takes a seat by the 
side of Mamie Murray on the front bench.] 

Fagan. Next! 

[A welly but rather noticeably dressed man from 
all appearances a travelling salesman or buyer, steps 
to the window. He has a swelling on his neck, which 
is quite obvious."] 

Fagan. What's your name? 

Man [hesitating]. Ah — ah — Henry Smith. 

Fagan [writing on a card]. Ye know the rules of 
this institution, Mr. Smith? 

Smith [off-handishly]. Oh, yes. 
„ Fagan. It's for poor people with no money. 
You don't look like one of 'em. 

[Henry Smith leans forward and whispers some- 
thing to Fagan. At the same time, with an easy 
manner, slips something into Fagan' s hand on the 
counter, which seems to result in a mutual understand- 
ing, as their hands are withdrawn.] 

Fagan. Here's your card, Mr. Smith. Take a 
seat. [As Henry Smith goes to the bench.] Next! 

A Woman [shawl over her head, old skirt looped up 
in the usual scrub-woman fashion, presents her card 
for inspection]. I'm come special. 

Fagan. Special ? 

Woman. Yah. To see the Professor — he sent for me. 

Fagan [looking at her card again, then taking it]. 
You wait here for a minute. [He gets out of the booth 
from behind and, card in hand, walks across the room 
and through door leading to hospital.] 

Ess] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Mamie Murray [seeing the registrar leave the 
room]. Say, Ange, wasn't you ever to a clinic 
before? 

Angelina [with an adventurer's smile']. This is me 
first. 

Mamie. Been payin' your good money out right 
along for private doctorin' ? 

Angelina [commencing to see her mistake]. Yep. 

Mamie. Gee! That's a crime — and with all 
the clinics there is. 

Angelina [in surprise]. You ain't been to any 
others, Mame? 

Mamie. I aint? That's the way to get the best 
medicine — try 'em till you're suited. 

Angelina [looking around]. That so? 

Mamie [with the superior air of experience]. Oh, 
this ain't so swell! But you get the medicine here — ■ 
long as you don't bother too much with the talk 
they hand out with it. Some places it's all talk — 
nothin' else. 

Angelina. Do you know many folks comin' 
here ? 

Mamie. Most all of 'em in our block comes to 
this one. 

Angelina. An' it don't cost 'em nothin'? 

Mamie. You don't suppose I could dress like 
this if I was payin' for private doctorin', do you? 

Angelina [as the registrar returns]. You always 
was some dresser, Mame. 

Mamie. Hush! Here comes his nibs. 

Fagan [as he crosses the room]. Here, no loud 
talkin' there on the benches. [He crawls into the 
cage and speaks to the woman waiting.] Here's your 
card — it's all reg'lar. Sit down on the bench 

[56] 



HELPING THE RICH 

[pointing to the rear]. The Professor'll see you 
shortly. 

The Woman [with some concern]. It ain't an 
operation ? 

Fagan. How should I know? Sit down. Next! 

[A woman with erect carriage, wearing a rather 
shabby cloak, which she holds carefully around her, 
steps to the window.] 

Fagan. Your card ? 

[The Woman hands him a postal card.] 

Fagan. What's this ? A postal card ? Fm askin' 
you for your dispensary card. 

The Woman [pointing to the card]. Read it. 

Fagan [reading]. Oh! the Professor sent it to 
you ? 

The Woman. It's very inconvenient, but I've 
come as he asked me. 

Fagan. You can step right in. It's all right. 

[A nurse comes in from the room behind and, looking 
over the patients 9 cards, takes Mamie and Angelina 
back with her.] 

The Woman But I don't understand why he 
should send for me. I've come here a few times for 
treatments, because a friend told me it was better 
than going to a private doctor; but you can see by 
my clothes that I couldn't afford to pay a doctor, 
anyway. 

Fagan. Nobody's askin' you to pay. 

The Woman. Then why should I be asked to 
come here today? 

Fagan. How should I know? Maybe you've 
some int'restin' disease the Professor wants to show 
the medical students. 

The Woman [drawing herself up]. You don't 

[57] 



HELPING THE RICH 

suppose I'm going to let them undress me and show 
me off to medical students!!! 

Fagan. Well, maybe it ain't that bad. Go in, 
anyway, and sit down till the Professor comes. 

[The Woman, rather hesitatingly, goes to a bench 
and sits down.] 

Fagan. Next! [Then looks around and seeing 
that no one else is waiting, he leans out of the window 
and closes the small gate in the railing. He then picks 
up his newspaper and commences to read.] 

Miss Daly [the dispensary nurse, who has been 
bringing in some chairs and has just placed the fourth 
one along the wait}. Mr. Fagan, can you give me a 
hand here? 

Fagan [putting down his paper]. I can, sure. 
[Leaves the booth and goes to her 7] What'll you have? 

Miss Daly. We must get that table [pointing to 
a wooden table through the door] into here. Can you 
manage it? 

Fagan. Easy. [He goes after the table and 
brings it in, while Miss Daly directs where it should 
be placed.] 

Miss Daly [between the benches and screen]. 
We'll have it about here, please. 

Fagan [as he puts it down]. And what may ye 
be doin' all this for? I'm pretty well posted, but 
they've got me guessin' in this place today. 

Miss Daly. Well, these are the orders. 

Fagan. Ain't anything to do with the new 
Trustee, is it? 

Miss Daly [with surprise]. The new Trustee? 

Fagan [cocking his head to one side]. Ye didn't 
know about that? 

Miss Daly. I guess you don't either. 

[58] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Fagan. Ye never heard of old Storm — the 
multi-millionaire ? 

Miss Daly. You're having dreams, Mr. Fagan 
— that old man's dead and buried. 

Fagan. It's his nephew — heir to the whole 
fortune — he's the fellow. 

Miss Daly. I guess I should have heard of it if 
they'd gotten a new Trustee. 

Fagan. Do you think I'm feedin' ye? It's only 
just happened. 

Miss Daly. I guess so. Who told you? 

Fagan. It comes straight, all right. 

Miss Daly. From whom ? 

Fagan [leaning over and speaking in undertones']. 
Young Dr. Talbert — the Professor's brother. 

Miss Daly. He told you? 

Fagan. Sure, no! I heard him tellin' it, though. 
He didn't know any one was around. He said his 
brother, the Professor, "turned the trick" — his 
very words. 

Miss Daly. Sounds like him. 

Fagan. Ye don't like him much ? 

Miss Daly. I do not. 

Fagan. Well, you'll not be seein' him around 
here much longer, I guess. 

Miss Daly. It'll be good riddance. 

Fagan. He's goin' to get that job in the wards 
with Dr. Cleaver. 

Miss Daly. I guess not. Dr. Brent is next in 
line for that position. 

Fagan. Well, he ain't liable to get it, just the 
same. 

Miss Daly. What do you mean? 

Fagan. He ain't got the pull young Talbert has, 

[59] 



HELPING THE RICH 

nor he ain't got a thousand dollars to pay for a good 
job in the hospital, either. 

Miss Daly. They couldn't put him in over 
Dr. Brent's head — that wouldn't be fair promotion. 

Fagan. Fair promotion? Ha, ha! but there's 
more ways o' cookin' a goose than one. 

Miss Daly. You didn't hear anything else? 

Fagan [in a whisper]. I heard him say all they 
needed was to get something on Robert Brent, so 
as to get him out of the way — and then he'd get 
the job fast enough. 

Miss Daly [earnestly]- But I don't believe 
they'll ever find anything irregular with Dr. Brent's 
work. 

Fagan. But they have — that's the very p'int — 
and they're intendin' to spring it on him, you bet. 

Miss Daly. It can't be true! What have they 
found ? 

Fagan. He's been sendin' patients from here 
to his private office — so as he could charge 'em a 
fee. Young Talbert said they could prove it on 
him, too. 

Miss Daly. Dr. Brent's not that kind. 

Fagan [waving his hand]. It's probably nothin' 
more'n a little honest graft — ye kin find it in any 
dispensary. Lord! I wouldn't hold it against 
him myself — all the work he does — with nary a 
cent o' pay for it. [Looking suddenly around, as a 
patient comes in.] Gee! There's another, and it's 
way past admittin' hour, too. 

Man [in shirt sleeves and overalls, holding a blood- 
soaked cloth about his left arm]. Vere's de Doctor? 

Fagan [re-entering booth]. Hold on a minute — 
what's your name? 

[60] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Man. Can't you see I'm hurt? I vant to see 
de Doctor. 

Fagan [opening his book}. What's your name? 

Man. Hermann Klein — but can't you hurry? 
I'll bleed to death ! I'll bleed to death ! Mein Gott ! 

Fagan [writing}* Don't get excited — where do 
you work? 

Man. Round in Feinblatt's factory. 

Fagan. I thought so — they've got some pretty 
lively machinery in that there shop. Go in and sit 
down. 

Klein. I can't — you got de gate shut. 

Fagan [leans over and opens the gate}. There you 
are. Go in and we'll fix you up. [To Miss Daly, 
who is still standing by the table — pointing to Klein 
with his thumb.} Emergency case. [Takes up his 
newspaper again.} 

Miss Daly [to Klein]. Come this way, please. 
[She leads him behind the screen.} There; sit down 
on that stool — I'll get the doctor. [Goes off through 
the dispensary door and returns almost immediately 
with Dr. Brent.] 

Brent [in white coat with short sleeves, comes up 
quickly and, taking in the situation at a glance, steps 
to the side of the operating table}. Come, let me help 
you up here. 

Klein [as he goes to the table}. Vat you goin' to 
do ? — cut my arm off? 

Dr. Brent [with encouraging smile}. Not likely, 
but we've got to have you where we can fix it. 
[He helps Klein on the table, and gently puts the in- 
jured arm on a rest fixed to the table.} Now, Miss 
Daly, — if you'll get the patient ready. 

[He goes to the side table and draws on a pair of 

[61] 



HELPING THE RICH 

rubber gloves, while the nurse deftly uncovers the arm and 
lays it on a sterilized towel.] 

Dr. Brent [examining the woun<T\. That's a 
nasty wound, and pretty ragged, too. [to the 
nurse'} It'll need a few stitches. [The usual prepara- 
tion and stitching which takes a few minutes is silently 
proceeded with until accomplished.'] How did you 
do it? 

Klein. Vas a new machine. 

Dr. Brent [as he applies the dressing."] Where 
do you work? 

Klein. Round Feinblatt's factory. 

Miss Daly. We're getting a good many cases 
from there. 

Dr. Brent. Yes, so I've noticed. This is the 
third this week, so far. 

Klein. De foreman told me to come here. 

Miss Daly. I guess they send all of them here. 
Feinblatt's a regular subscriber to the hospital. 

Dr. Brent. So he feels privileged. 

Miss Daly. Yes, he gives the hospital ten dollars 
a year, regularly, for what would cost him several 
thousand dollars if he paid for those his machinery 
injures. 

Dr. Brent. There, — now we're ready for the 
bandage — I think — [He applies the bandage. 
Then, to the patient^] How does that feel? 

Klein. It feels goot. Tanks — dat's a fine 
job. 

Dr. Brent. Now, you can get down. Come 
around here day after tomorrow, and let's see it. 
If it pains you during the night, come around to 
where I live and let me see it, and we'll make it 
comfortable for you. 

[62] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Klein. Tank you. Vere do you live? 

Dr. Brent [to Miss Daly]. Write out my 
number for him, will you please? 

Miss Daly. Certainly. [She writes on a slip 
of paper and hands it to the patient.] 

Dr. Brent. There — now you can go along. 

Miss Daly [to Brent as the patient goes out}. 
Doctor Brent, may I speak to you for a moment? 

Dr. Brent [looking at her]. Of course. 

Miss Daly. I've heard something today which 
I think I ought to tell you. 

Dr. Brent. About the dispensary? 

Miss Daly. About your position here — you 
may lose it. 

Dr. Brent. I've heard they didn't think I was 
sending enough patients up to the wards. 

Miss Daly. It isn't that. 

Dr. Brent [uneasy]. What is it? 

Miss Daly They think you've been using 
your position here to make money from the pa- 
tients — they think you're not honest. 

Dr. Brent [controlling himself]. They think 
that, do they? Who told you? 

Miss Daly. Perhaps I oughtn't to say how I 
heard it — but I wanted to put you on your guard. 

Dr. Brent. Thank you, thank you very much, 
Miss Daly. I appreciate it. 

Miss Daly. I want to say, too, that I hope it 
won't — won't turn out so that you'll have to leave 
the dispensary — it's been a lot different here for 
all of us who have to work here, since you've been 
in charge of this department. 

Dr. Brent. You're very kind to say that, Miss 
Daly [as she leaves him], 

[6 3 ] 



HELPING THE RICH 

[Judith comes in from door leading to the hospital, 
looks behind the screen, where Brent is,] l( 

Judith. Oh, there you are, Dr. Brent! I thought 
I was never going to find you. I'm glad you haven't 
gone yet. I have something to tell you. 

Dr. Brent [smiling, as he bozos']. Another secret ? 

Judith [with a little laugh]. No — it's a message. 

Dr. Brent. A message — ? 

Judith. Yes, from Mr. Storm. He wanted me 
to tell you that you might see him here at the 
hospital this afternoon. 

Dr. Brent. Peter coming here? Good! I shall 
be delighted to see him. 

Judith. Oh! That's just what you mustn't be. 

Dr. Brent [puzzled]. Mustn't be glad to see 
him? 

Judith. That's what he was most particular 
to have me tell you. 

Dr. Brent. What does he mean — do you 
know? [not waiting for the answer] It can't be that 
he knows. 

Judith. Knows what? 

Dr. Brent. That I'm in trouble here — why 
I've only just heard reports about it myself. 

Judith. He told me nothing about your being 
in any difficulty, Dr. Brent, — but I suspect 

Dr. Brent. Suspect what? 

Judith. That he knows. 

Dr. Brent. What did he say? 

Judith. He said: Tell Bobby not to be sur- 
prised to see me. If I do not speak with him, he 
will understand why later. 

Dr. Brent. By Jove! Isn't that just like him? 
He's heard something about this thing, and some- 

[6 4 ] 



HELPING THE RICH 

how or other he's going to jump in and put up a 
fight for me. 

Judith [lighting up]. Do you think that's what 
he means to do? 

Dr. Brent. I know it! I know him. [Then 
suddenly dejected.] Oh, but I wish he hadn't done 
this — whatever it is. He'll only get hurt himself. 
There's no use. He can't buck up against a hospital 
board, with its power and reputation. 

Judith [her eyes sparkling]. Oh ! but it is splendid 
of him, isn't it? 

Dr. Brent. Yes — but it is no use — no use. 
I know what they can do in these hospitals if one 
hasn't influence, — I know. 

Judith [sympathetically]. And without your 
salary — if you lose your position — it will be 
pretty hard. 

Dr. Brent. Salary? Why doctors don't get 
paid anything for this work. 

Judith. You mean you give all this time and 
personal work for nothing? 

Dr. Brent. Yes — but I'm not thinking of 
that — that isn't the point; it's having your pro- 
fessional reputation blackened by your brother 
doctors — just because they have gotten into power 
— that's what hurts. 

Miss Daly [entering and coming up to Brent]. 
Excuse me, Dr. Brent, — will you see that patient here 
or shall I take him back? [pointing to the dispensary]. 

Dr. Brent. Here — in a few minutes. [Then, 
to Judith, as the nurse goes back into the dispensary.] 
I don't believe you had ^etter stay around here any 
longer, for if your father and Mr. Storm should 
come 

[6 S ] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Judith [hastily'}. Goodness! I never thought 
of that. Yes, I must go, Dr. Brent [putting out her 
hand} — and I hope everything will come out all 
right. Indeed I do. 

Dr. Brent. Thank you, Miss — Miss [whispers} 
Miller. 

[Judith with a pleased little laugh hurries away. 
After a moment Brent goes to the man waiting on the 
bench.} 

Dr. Brent. Will you come this way, please. 
[They go behind the screen, Brent indicating a seat.} 
What's your trouble? 

[Smith leans over and whispers something.} 

Dr. Brent. I see. Then you did not come 
because of this swelling on your neck [putting out 
his hand and feeling it}. 

Smith. Lord, no! That thing has been there 
as long as I can remember — born with it, I guess. 
Anyway, it gives me no trouble, and I'm willing to 
keep it. 

Dr. Brent [feeling it again}. Well, it's one of 
the kind that's not apt to give you any trouble, so 
long as it remains as it is, and you don't mind the 
looks of it. 

Smith. I don't, — and as I explained, — that's 
not what I came about. 

Dr. Brent [looking him over}. But surely, you 
are not one of the unfortunate class who are driven 
to seek the aid of charity when in need of a doctor? 

Smith [with rising dignity}. I am not a pauper — 
certainly not — I earn good money. But what 
difference does that make to you? 

Dr. Brent [rising}. Because a hospital which is 
dedicated to the poor — which the city makes free 

[66] 



HELPING THE RICH 

from taxes — where the doctors work without 
recompense — is not the place for you, Mr. Smith. 

Smith. Say, Doc. You can cut out that stuff 
with me. I know the ropes — I know lots of fellows 
who get treated in these hospitals — and Doc — 
[in an undertone] you needn't worry — savey ? 

Dr. Brent [taking the card from him, and pointing 
to the printed rules on the back of it]. Just read these 
rules which apply to dispensary patients, Mr. Smith. 
[As Smith reads, Brent goes to the instrument table 
and is busy selecting some things therefrom.] 

[Dr. Cleaver enters by dispensary door.] 

Dr. Cleaver. Good afternoon, Fagan. 

Fagan. Afternoon, Professor. 

Dr. Cleaver. What's the matter with this de- 
partment of yours, Fagan? — we're not getting 
enough cases through here for the operating room, 
these days. 

Fagan. I couldn't say Professor — there's about 
the same numbers as always — maybe more. 

Dr. Cleaver. I see a good many new buildings 
going up in our neighborhood, here 

Fagan. And a prosperous lot they are, too. I 
should say that most that comes in here now could 
afford to pay for private doctorin' easy enough. 

Dr. Cleaver. Yes, yes! But you needn't be 
too particular about turning them away on that 
account — we need the material for the students, 
you understand. 

Fagan. Oh, sure! I understand that. Pro- 
fessor Talbert was tellin' me the same last week. 
There's some of 'em has bank rolls all right, though 
— I can see that when they're payin' their ten cents 
for medicine. 

[6 7 ] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Cleaver. Well — not too strict with the 
rules, Fagan, not too strict. By the way, did any 
of the patients Dr. Talbert sent for, show up ? 

Fagan [pointing to bench'}. There's two of 'em. 

Dr. Brent [behind the screen, to Smith]. Well, 
Mr. Smith, have you read the rules? 

Smith. Yes, I've read them. 

Dr. Brent. Then it's probably plain to you now 
that you have made a mistake [leading him to the 
center of the room and then pointing to the door]. 
Good afternoon, sir. 

[He stands waiting to see the patient safely out, — 
when Dr. Cleaver leaves the booth where he has been 
speaking to Fagan.] 

Dr. Cleaver [almost bumping into patient going out, 
sees the swelling on his neck, stops him, and calls to 
Brent]. Ah, Dr. Brent! — one moment — here, please. 

Dr. Brent [coming up]. Good afternoon, Dr. 
Cleaver. 

Dr. Cleaver [taking hold of Smith, then critically 
feeling the tumor]. This is an interesting thing, 
Doctor. [Then, to Smith.] How long have you 
had this, my man? 

Smith [without interest}. Born with it. 

Dr. Cleaver. Humph! Congenital — Ij thought 
so. [Then to Smith.] Just step into the other room 
a minute [pointing backward]. 

[Smith, rather dazed by the suddenness of the com- 
mand, does as he is told.] 

Dr. Cleaver [to Brent]. I'd like to examine 
that case myself — that's just the condition I've 
been anxious to meet with for demonstration. I'll 
dissect that tumor out before the medical students, 
next Tuesday. See that he is prepared for operation. 

[68] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Brent. Unfortunately I have just dis- 
charged him. 

Dr. Cleaver. Discharged him? 

Dr. Brent. Yes, he is not a charity case. 

Dr. Cleaver. Come, Dr. Brent, just what do 
you mean by that? 

Dr. Brent. Simply that he has the means to 
pay for his care, outside of a dispensary. 

Dr. Cleaver [assuming indifference]. You see 
many such? 

Dr. Brent. A good many. 

Dr. Cleaver [looking at Brent's face as he 
speaks"]. Your office is quite near to the hospital, is 
it not, Dr. Brent? 

Dr. Brent [returning the gaze]. It is. 

[A moment 9 s pause.] 

Dr. Cleaver [with peculiar emphasis]. Have 
you finished your work here, Doctor, for the day? 

Dr. Brent. I have one more dressing. 

Dr. Cleaver. When you have completed that, 
will you be good enough to hold yourself in readiness 
to return to this room ? I am expecting Mr. Monroe 
and Dr. Talbert, and we have a little matter which we 
wish to talk over with you. 

Dr. Brent. Very well, sir [leaves the room]. 

[Mr. Monroe and Dr. Talbert, deep in con- 
versation, slowly enter from the hospital.] 

Mr. Monroe. Yes, yes! I'm very glad, Tal- 
bert, you sent word to Mr. Storm that our meeting 
would be at four thirty — instead of four. 

Dr. Talbert. Yes, upstairs in the Board Room. 
[Looking at his watch.] That gives us fifteen minutes 
here. Ah, there's Cleaver. 

Dr. Cleaver. Good afternoon, gentlemen. 

[6 9 ] 



HELPING THE RICH 

[Then, in a lower tone."] I've been having a little talk 
with the young man — he's in the other room, 
waiting. 

Mr. Monroe. Yes, yes! But do not let us 
delay the matter — it's unpleasant business — 
[turning to Dr. Talbert] — but you advise it, 
Talbert? You think it is best? 

Dr. Talbert [with his laugh'}. There is no ques- 
tion about that, sir. [Looking up."] Oh, by the way 
— has the evidence arrived? 

Dr. Cleaver. There are two of them [pointing 
to the bench]. 

Dr. Talbert. There should be three — I had a 
man coming, too. 

[At that moment a Man enters the dispensary door — 
a firm-featured, fine-looking fellow — of middle age, 
and plain but neat appearance.] 

The Man. My name is Frank Allen. Dr. 
Talbert sent for me. 

Dr. Talbert. Ah! There's my man, now. 
Come in, sir. I am Dr. Talbert. 

Allen. Has the electric plant gone wrong? I 
remember I helped to install it, — but they all need 
a little fixing now and then. 

Dr. Talbert. Ha, ha! The electricity's all 
right, I guess, Mr. Allen. We want you to give 
us a little light of another kind, this time [goes off 
into his chuckling laugh], 

Allen. What can I do for you? 

Dr. Talbert. Sit down on the bench and we'll 
ask for your assistance in just a few minutes. [To 
Fagan.] Bring some chairs, Fagan. 

Fagan. Very good, Professor [goes after the 
chairs], 

[70] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Mr. Monroe [pointing to benches*]. Perhaps it 
would be just as well to have these people wait out- 
side until we need them, eh? 

Dr. Talbert. I think so, sir. [In an under- 
tone to Fagan, who has returned."] Have them wait 
outside the room [pointing to the hospital door]. 

Fagan [going up to the patients]. Will you kindly- 
come this way with me, please ? [taking them out as 
desirecT], 

Dr. Talbert. Now, gentlemen [looking around 
to see that they are alone], I don't think there should 
be any hitch, and I trust we will not find it necessary 
to question these people, who, I may say, are all 
patients that have been seen to enter and leave 
Brent's office. 

Dr. Cleaver. How did you manage it? 

Dr. Talbert. That was easy — they were seen 
from across the street — opposite his apartment. 

Mr. Munroe. Talbert, as I have observed before, 
you are a remarkable man — a remarkable man. 

Dr. Talbert. Not at all, I simply had an- 
ticipated the necessity of the change in our staff. 
[Looking at his watch.] Gentlemen, we must make 
haste if we are to get this matter out of the way 
before our new Trustee arrives. 

[With a side look at Dr. Cleaver.] He might not 
appreciate the importance of making these little 
changes as well as our President does. 

Mr. Monroe. Humph ! What's that ? What's that ? 

Dr. Talbert [to Mr. Monroe]. I say, he 
might not be able to see the best interests of the 
hospital as clearly as you do, sir. 

Mr. Monroe. I see, I see! [Takes a chair.] 
Then, supposing we begin 

[7i] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Talbert [calling]- Fagan! 

[Fagan enters and comes before them.] 

Dr. Talbert. Fagan, ask Dr. Brent to step 
here. 

Fagan. Very good, Professor [withdraws], 

Mr. Monroe. Talbert, will you act as Chair- 
man? 

Dr. Talbert. If you wish, sir. [He and Dr. 
Cleaver sit down.] 

Dr. Cleaver [with something like a grin]. A 
good idea, Talbert, as you have made the arrange- 
ments. 

[Dr. Brent, having changed to his ordinary 
clothes, comes before them, and with a somewhat 
reserved bow, waits to be addressed.] 

Mr. Monroe. This is Dr. Brent? 

Dr. Brent. Yes, sir. 

Mr. Monroe. Dr. Brent, it is a very painful 
duty to have to inform you that the manner in 
which you have treated the high responsibilities of 
your position here has come to light. 

Dr. Brent. May I ask what you are referring 
to, sir? 

Dr. Talbert Ah! So there is something besides 
seeing dispensary patients in your office. 

Dr. Brent [a little excited]. What! What do 
you mean, Dr. Talbert? 

Dr. Talbert [assuming a kindly air]. Now then, 
Doctor — now then — don't get excited. 

Dr. Brent. I should like to know what you are 
accusing me of. 

Dr. Talbert [blandly]. Before going into that, 
and in order to save your professional standing, an 
alternative has suggested itself to us. 

[72] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Brent. What do you mean? 

Dr. Talbert [turning to the others"}. If this pro- 
posal meets your approval, gentlemen, I would 
suggest that if Dr. Brent should care to just quietly 
send in his resignation, we might waive any further 
action in the matter. 

Mr. Monroe. Yes, yes! [Nodding his head.} 
A very considerate proposal. 

Dr. Cleaver [looking rather anxiously at his 
watch}. By all means, — that is a very good idea. 

Dr. Talbert [turning to Brent]. What do you 
say, Dr. Brent? 

[Brent is just drawing breath to answer, when the 
door opens and Peter enters.} 

Peter [to group}. Good afternoon, gentlemen. 
Arrived a bit early, so Pve been looking around a 
little before the meeting. 

Mr. Monroe [as they all get up rather hastily and, 
disregarding their present occupation, turn with 
marked attention to Peter]. Ah! Good afternoon, 
Mr. Storm. 

Dr. Talbert. So youVe been looking over the 
hospital ? 

Peter. Just as a casual sightseer. 

Dr. Cleaver. And what did you think of our 
various departments, with our doctors and nurses 
at work ? 

Peter. Enthusiasm everywhere — all busy with 
plans for new growth and progress I see — Most 
interesting ! 

Dr. Cleaver [wishing to be polite, and bowing 
toward Peter]. That's all owing to — [Breaks off 
in a sudden coughing, as he receives a sharp nudge 
from Dr. Talbert]. 

[73] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Talbert. Yes, yes! As Cleaver was about 
to say — that's all owing to — ah — ah — how 
shall I express it? That singleness of purpose which 
comes to those who are helping the poor. You al- 
ways see that at St. Stephens, Mr. Storm. 

Dr. Cleaver [recovering}. Exactly! Exactly! 

Mr. Monroe [with a smile, grunts']. Just so! 
Just so! 

Peter. And this is part of the dispensary, I 
presume? 

Dr. Talbert. Yes, but there is nothing further 
of interest here for the day, as the dispensary work 
has been finished. So if you would make yourself 
comfortable in the Trustees' room — 

Peter. No, indeed, gentlemen, it is all more 
interesting to me than you have any idea of — but 
do not let me keep you standing — I will sit down 
with you. 

Mr. Monroe. I think we have come to the end 
of our meeting here — eh, Talbert? 

Dr. Talbert. I think so, sir. [Then, turning 
and speaking in an undertone to Brent.] All you will 
have to do is to send it to Mr. Monroe in writing 
— you understand. 

Dr. Brent [indignantly]. You mean my resig- 
nation? You mean you are asking me to resign? 

Mr. Monroe [going up to Brent]. If I have 
heard the facts that will be the easiest way for you, 
Doctor — take my advice. Yes, just so. 

Dr. Cleaver [close to him]. We have evidence 
here, young man — you had better not make a 
scene. 

Dr. Brent [in a tense tone]. What evidence? 

Mr. Monroe [turning rather apologetically to 

[74] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Peter]. We are very sorry that this matter 
should have come up on your first day with us. It 
seems to be one of those cases where kindness and 
consideration are lost — completely lost. 

Peter. Well, I trust my presence here will not 
interfere with the proper delivery of justice. 

Dr. Cleaver. Exactly — exactly! I think we 
should proceed with this matter and have in the 
evidence, now that we have begun it. 

Dr. Talbert [to Mr. Monroe]. What is your 
pleasure in the matter, sir? 

Mr. Monroe. I am told Mr. Storm, that the 
Doctor, here, is under the charge of having made 
use of philanthropy to further his own personal ad- 
vancement; of having sent the poor patients of this 
dispensary to his private office in order to charge 
them money. I do not ask you to form any judg- 
ment in the case, however, until after you have 
heard with us the evidence waiting. 

Peter. That sounds to me most reasonable. 

Dr. Talbert [addressing Brent]. Dr. Brent, 
there is a chair behind the screen which you may get. 
[Brent does so.~] 

Peter [as they seat themselves']' What you say is 
surprising to me. Do charity hospitals take pa- 
tients who have money? 

Mr. Monroe. I am informed that now and then 
one may get by our careful registrar or our thorough 
system of investigating the applicants. 

Peter. Well, well! 

Dr. Talbert [with papers before him on the table]. 
Now, Dr. Brent, what have you to say to the charge? 
Have you or have you not sent patients from the 
dispensary to your private office for treatment? 

[75] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Brent. I have. 

Dr. Talbert. There, gentlemen, you see that 
he admits having seen dispensary patients in his 
office, which though innocent in itself, is hard to 
believe that a doctor would do unless he could col- 
lect money thereby. What is your pleasure? Shall 
we hear the witnesses? 

Dr. Cleaver. Certainly — have 'em in. 

Dr. Talbert [calling}. Fagan! 

Fagan [appearing}. Yes, sir. 

Dr. Talbert. Call the first patient. 

Fagan. Very good, Professor. [He goes out and 
brings in the scrub woman.} 

Dr. Talbert. Will you come and stand here, 
my woman? [Pointing to a place in front of him.} 
Now, tell us if you have been a patient at the 
dispensary. 

The Woman. I have, this long time. I got an 
open ulster on me leg [stooping over to pull up her 
skirts}. Would you like to see it? 

Mr. Monroe [horrified, and raising his hands in 
protest}. Oh — no — no ! That will not be necessary. 

The Woman. Then it ain't no operation you're 
thinkin' of? 

Dr. Talbert. No, certainly not, my good 
woman. 

The Woman [raising her hands and eyes}. The 
Lord be praised ! Let him be praised ! 

Dr. Talbert. We want to know if this [pointing 
to Brent] is the doctor who has attended your case? 

The Woman. Yes, sir! He's the one. 

Dr. Talbert. And have you ever gone to his 
private office to be treated ? 

The Woman. Many times I have! 

[76] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Talbert. Hem — I see. Now tell us how 
you happened to do that? 

The Woman. He lets me come there sometimes in 
the evenin' when I can't get off to come here in the 
afternoon. 

Dr. Talbert. Exactly! Now, one more ques- 
tion, please. Has any money ever passed between 
you and the doctor on those occasions? 

The Woman. I can't recollect. 

Dr. Talbert. Think. 

The Woman. You're right — once there did. 

Dr. Talbert [with an expression of satisfaction}. 
Ah! When? 

The Woman. It was Christmas time — he give 
me a dollar to buy somethin' for the childer — Lord 
bless him. 

Dr. Talbert [rather abruptly'}. That will be 
all. You may go. [To Fagan, who stands at the 
door.} Fagan, you may bring in the next patient. 

[The Second Woman is brought in and stands 
before them.} 

Peter [with an innocent expression}. That is 
very interesting — but I expect I can't understand 
these things until I've been connected with the 
hospital longer. 

[There is no answer to this remark, further than a 
slight lifting of Mr. Monroe's eyebrows.} 

Dr. Talbert. Now, my woman, see if you can 
answer truthfully the questions I put to you. 

Second Woman. What is it you wish of me? 

Dr. Talbert. Have you been a patient at this 
clinic? 

Second Woman. It was recommended to me by 
a friend. 

L77l 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Talbert [annoyed}. Please answer my 
questions — yes or no — Have you been a patient 
here? 

Second Woman. Yes. 

Dr. Talbert. Is this the doctor [pointing to 
Brent] who attended you? 

Second Woman. Yes. 

Dr. Talbert. Have you ever visited his private 
office ? 

Second Woman. Yes. 

Dr. Talbert. Now explain to us, please, how 
you happened to go there. 

Second Woman. The Doctor said the hospital 
didn't have an instrument he needed, so he asked me 
to go to his office where he could make the necessary 
test. 

Dr. Talbert. I see! You paid him, of course, 
for the examination? 

Second Woman. I offer I can't afford to 

pay a doctor. 

Dr. Talbert. Did you or did you not pay him 
anything ? - 

Second Woman. No. I did offer to pay him, 
but he refused to take anything. 

[Pause."] 

Peter [takes a small handkerchief from his pocket 
and goes up to the woman]. Excuse me, but is this 
yours? 

Second Woman. Why, yes! Thank you! 

Peter. You dropped it in the street. You were 
some little distance in front of me at the time. 

Second Woman. Really 

Peter. You had just gotten out of your motor 
around the corner. I wasn't quite sure of you, at 

[78] 



HELPING THE RICH 

first when I saw you here — because you hadn't 
this old cloak on then [which he gently lifts from her 
shoulders, showing a handsome fur coat beneath. He 
goes quietly back to his chair and sits down.'] 

[An embarrassing silence ensues.] " 

Mr. Monroe [calling"]. Fagan! Fagan! 

Fagan [coming up]. Yes, sir! Yes, Mr. Monroe. 

Mr. Monroe [angrily]. How comes it that you 
admitted a patient to our clinic here whom you 
should have seen was practicing an abuse of our 
charity? 

Fagan. If you please, sir — she must have got 
rich quick, then — for until this very day she was 
as poor as any of the "material" — that's what 
the Professor calls 'em — you'll want to see. I 
could swear to that, sir! 

Dr. Talbert [under masterly control], Fagan, 
see the woman out. 

[Another awkward pause follows^] 

Peter [still innocently]. I've often wondered 
how charity hospitals were managed. It's different 
from anything else, isn't it? 

[No one seems to hear Peter's remark, or care to 
answer it, as they sit with stony faces, looking straight 
ahead — all except Brent, whose expression of polite 
attention remains unchanged.] 

Fagan [in a hesitating way, goes up to Dr. Tal- 
bert]. Would you care to see the other patient, 
Professor? 

Dr. Talbert [with a desperate look on his face]. 
Certainly, Fagan, — show him in. 

[Frank Allen is brought before them.] 
f Dr. Talbert. Now, my man — Allen, you say 
your name is, I believe. 

[79] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Frank Allen. And Talbert is your name, I 
think you said. 

Dr. Talbert. Dr. Talbert is my name — that 
is correct. 

Frank Allen. And Mr. Allen is my name. 

Dr. Talbert [with a laugh}. Very well, Mr. 
Allen. Now, will you be kind enough, Mr. Allen, 
to tell these gentlemen if you know this young 
man [pointing to Brent]. 

Frank Allen. I certainly do, — that is Dr. 
Robert Brent. 

Dr. Talbert. Have you ever been to his office 
for treatment? 

Frank Allen. I have. 

Dr. Talbert. Have you ever paid him money 
for his services? 

Frank Allen. I have. Cash each time. 

Dr. Talbert [to Brent]. You have received 
money from this patient? 

Dr. Brent. I have. 

Dr. Talbert [with an expression of finality, and 
spreading his hands before him}. Gentlemen, the 
evidence is before you. 

Dr. Brent. Excuse me — but may I say a word ? 

Dr. Talbert [in resounding tones'}. The ex- 
amination is finished. The word of this last dis- 
pensary patient [pointing to Allen] 

Frank Allen [stepping quickly to Dr. Talbert 
and leaning toward him}. Me! A dispensary pa- 
tient! Where did you get that? 

Dr. Talbert. You come to this dispensary, 
don't you? 

Frank Allen. Yes, to fix the electric 

light. 

[80] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Talbert [aghast]. You're not a dispensary 
patient? 

Frank Allen. If you think I'm the kind to ask 
favors of charity, you've made a mistake. 

[Dr. Talbert, Dr. Cleaver, and Mr. Monroe 
look at each other in silence for what seems several 
minutes but is in reality only a few seconds.] 

Dr. Talbert {holding himself well — with a con- 
ciliatory manner]- Well, Allen — perhaps there 
has been some little mistake. 

[Mr. Monroe and Dr. Cleaver sit anxiously 
forward in their seats.] 

Frank Allen [leaning still nearer to Dr. Talbert 
and raising his voice]. Some little mistake — yes, 
I think so ! And now that I come to think of it, — 
who told you that you could pry into my affairs 
this way? 

Mr. Monroe [with the suggestion of a smile]. 
Tut, tut, my man, we can hear you quite well. 

Dr. Talbert [to Allen]. Look here, sir — do 
you know before whom you are speaking? 

Frank Allen. Certainly, I do. That's Mr. 
Monroe, President of this Hospital 

Dr. Talbert. Yes, sir! Mr. Monroe, who is 
known for his charity from one end of this great city 
to the other. 

Frank Allen. Of course he is — who said he 
wasn't ? He pays for it. 

Dr. Talbert. Do you imply, sir, that giving 
money for the poor isn't good ? Why the rich have 
always helped the poor 

Frank Allen. Yes to keep poor. [Pause.] 

This is all very interesting, gentlemen, but I'm afraid 
I'll not be able to give you any more of my time this 

[81] 



HELPING THE RICH 

afternoon. [As he stalks out.'} In the future, I'd thank 
you not to confuse me with your charity patients. 

Peter [as Allen slams the door}. My! That 
man has a direct way of speaking, — hasn't he? 

Mr. Monroe [tapping the table nervously}. Yes, 
quite so, quite so. 

Fagan [coming in}. There's some one would like 
to speak with Mr. Storm on the telephone. 

Peter. Who is it ? 

Fagan. Mr. Underhill — he said his name was 
[withdraws from the room}. 

Peter. Underhill — he's one of the executors 
of my uncle's estate. Gentlemen, will you excuse 
me? — where's the telephone? 

Dr. Talbert [to Brent]. Dr. Brent, will you 
show Mr. Storm the way to the telephone? 

Dr. Brent [getting up and leading the way through 
the hospital door}. This way, please. [Peter fol- 
lows.} 

[Left alone Mr. Monroe, Dr. Talbert and Dr. 
Cleaver look for a moment at each other in constrained 
silence.} 

Mr. Monroe. Most unfortunate, gentlemen, 
most unfortunate. 

Dr. Cleaver [disgustedly}. As Mr. Monroe has 
observed, Talbert you are a remarkable man — a 
remarkable man. 

Dr. Talbert [losing his temper}. Good Lord, 
Cleaver! You needn't throw it up to me — I never 
expected to bring those people in here to testify. 
You proposed it. 

Mr. Monroe. Come, come, gentlemen! What's 
best to be done now — that's the question; and it 
must be decided quickly. 

[82] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Cleaver [pushing back his chair]. Better 
table it for further consideration, and close the 
meeting. 

Mr. Monroe. Never do, gentlemen, never do. 
Leave too bad a taste in Mr. Storm's mouth when 
he comes to think it over. 

Peter [coming in, with his hand on Brent's 
shoulder — puts on a serious expression, and speaks 
in a low hut audible voice]. Of course, of course, 
Bobby, old man — but you must leave the matter 
with these gentlemen. [The intended effect is pro- 
duced, as Mr. Monroe, Dr. Talbert and Dr. 
Cleaver take in the situation of friendship, with 
gasping amazement, as Peter addresses them.] I shall 
be interested to hear your decision in Dr. Brent's 
case, gentlemen — I was very sorry to be called away 
at just that moment. 

Dr. Cleaver [with ill-controlled wonder]. Dr. 
Brent is a friend of yours, Mr. Storm ? 

Peter. One of my oldest and best — we were 
friends at school. Didn't Dr. Talbert tell you? 

Dr. Talbert. I? 

Peter [looking in Dr. Talbert's direction]. 
Why, it was on Bobby's account that I connected 
myself with St. Stephen's. 

Mr. Monroe. Eh ? What's that ? 

Peter. You can understand that I am almost 
as anxious as Dr. Brent is himself to hear the result 
of this meeting. 

Dr. Talbert [recovering himself]. Yes, exactly 
so. Dr. Brent is too able a man not to receive ad- 
vancement, now that this little matter is cleared 
away — eh, Cleaver? 

Dr. Cleaver. Of course, Talbert, and I was just 

[8 3 ] 



HELPING THE RICH 

wondering if he would care to be Assistant Professor 
in Surgery. 

Dr. Brent [hardly grasping the turn of the tide']. 
Are you speaking of me ? 

Dr. Talbert [hiding his annoyance]. Certainly 

— certainly, Dr. Brent. You should not spend all 
your days here in the dispensary. 

Peter [to Brent], You see, Bobby, what comes 
to those who work hard [taking Brent's hand and 
shaking it]. Let me be the first to congratulate you. 
[Then, turning to the others.] Do any of you happen 
to know Mr. Underhill, my uncle's executor? 

Dr. Talbert. Ha, ha! Clarence Underhill — 
a queer little man — of course I know him — very 
exact — very precise. 

Peter. Exactly, — that's the very man, — al- 
ways so very particular about details — that's the 
man. Well, what do you suppose he called me up 
to tell me? [They all lean forward in tense inquiry.] 
That my uncle had left more — much more money 
than they had at first supposed; that now he had 
the exact figures [they bend a little closer]; that now 
my annual income from the estate would amount to 

— sixty-two dollars and fifty cents — [Smiling as 
he leans on the table and looks from one set face to the 
other.] Now, isn't that just like Underhill? 



CURTAIN 



[8 4 ] 



ACT IV 

Scene. — Same as Act I. 
Time. — Following morning. 

Peter is sitting at his desk with Judith beside 
him, quietly working. One at a time, she passes him 
sheets of MS., which he takes and looks over critically. 

Judith {suddenly looking up"]. You know it was 
splendid — what you did for your friend, Dr. Brent. 

Peter. I simply let them go on with their mis- 
take of thinking I was rich — very rich — that's 
all — until 

Judith. Until what? 

Peter [laughing]. Well, until they made a pro- 
fessor — or something of that kind — of Bobby. 
Now, if he wants to get out, he won't be landed on 
the scrap heap, — you understand. 

[They work on quietly for a few minutes, without 
speaking.] 

Peter. Oh, here is something which needs a 
slight correction [looking at Judith]. I wonder if 
you could reach that red book? [Then, with a 
smile.] No, I think I had better get it myself. [Suit- 
ing his action to his words — goes to the book-case and 
brings the book to the desk. Opening it, he proceeds 
to make some notes on the sheet in front of him. They 
again work on quietly for a few minutes without speak- 
ing. Then looking up with a smile, Peter asks, 
And how is the injured arm getting on? 

[8 5 ] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Judith {responding with a little laugh]. Hardly 
feel it [holding it out] — see, the swelling is all gone, 
and everything. 

Peter [taking her hand and looking wise, as he 
inspects her wrist}. Now, if I were a doctor, I sup- 
pose I'd tell you just what a very 

Judith [making no effort to release herself}. Let go! 

Peter [still holding her hand, looks up at her, and 
speaking very quietly]. Tell me, why didn't you 
want me to recognize you, when you came here? 

Judith [releasing herself as she jumps up and takes 
two or three steps back, in her surprise]. You knew ? 

Peter [sits smiling at her], 

Judith. Why didn't you tell me right away? 

Peter. Couldn't. 

Judith [a little breathless]. Why ? 

Peter. Didn't know you right away, 

Judith [the corners of her mouth drooping a little]. 
Do you remember all those years ago, when the 
steamer landed and we said good-bye? 

Peter [going and standing near her]. Of course I 
remember. 

Judith. And I said, then, you would probably 
forget all about me — and now you see you did. 

Peter. Are you sure? 

Judith. What else can I think? — [They look 
at each other for a moment in silence] You said you 
would write 

Peter. And you said you would answer — 

if if you still cared [He stops speaking, 

as she turns away from him and puts her hands up 
to her face. They stand thus for a minute or two — 
when she turns and faces him again — her eyes very 
bright.] 

[86] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Judith. I never heard [They stand for a 

moment, numbed; not trusting themselves to look at 
each other, when she suddenly looks up.] But the 
other day, when I came here 

Peter. So many years, and you have changed. 

Judith [shaking her head, sadly"]- I am just the same. 

Peter [slowly drawing out his pocket book and 
taking from it a small kodak picture]. Look at this 
[handing it to her], 

Judith [after studying it a moment — with a little 
note of amusement coming into her voice]. Oh, that 
funny old-fashioned dress — and my hair, all 
plastered back! It's too funny! 

Peter. It's plain enough. 

Judith [quickly]. What did you say? 

Peter [smiling]. That you've changed some. 

[Judith, her eyes wide — her face half puzzled, half 
amused, stands regarding him.] 

Peter [holding out his hand]. If you please? 

Qudith looks at him]. 

Peter. The picture, please? 

Judith [handing it to him]. Oh! 

Peter [carefully putting it back]. Thank you. 

[Pause.] 

Judith [her eyes widening, and speaking slowly]. 
And you have kept that there [putting out her hand 
and touching his breast pocket] all the time? 

Peter [smiling]. Well, you know how those things 
will stick around in a man's/pocket, sometimes. 

Judith. [with a happy laugh]. Do you know, you 
haven't changed a bit. 

Peter [taking her quickly in his arms]. No, — 
not a bit. 

Judith [after a minute]. Some one may come in. 

[8 7 ] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Peter. Come [leading her by the hand]. Til 
show you another old-fashioned picture, if you'd like 
to see it ? — my father and mother, this time. 

Judith [smiling and happy as they go into the sitting 
room]. And will you tell me all about them, too? 

[A moment or two — and the door from the hall 
opens, and Mrs. Foster comes in, followed by Mr. 
Monroe and Dr. Talbert.] 

Mrs. Foster [turning to the two gentlemen]. Will 
you take a seat? I'll see if Mr. Storm's in. [She 
goes into the sitting room, but comes out again, almost 
immediately.] Mr. Storm's very busy, just this 
minute — but if you'll wait ? 

Mr. Monroe [rather irritated]. Yes, yes! We will 
wait. 

[Mrs. Foster looks at Mr. Monroe for a few 
seconds, then starts to leave the room — when she stops 
again to stare at him.] 

Mr. Munroe [noticing her gaze — looks question- 
ingly at her]. Well, well! [In an annoyed tone.] 
What is it? 

Mrs. Foster [flurried, as one suddenly awakened]. 
Oh! Oh! I beg pardon [turns and hurries from the 
room into the half]. 

Mr. Monroe [with a puzzled look]. Did you 
notice the way that old woman stared at us, Talbert? 

Dr. Talbert. I didn't notice she paid any par- 
ticular attention to me [tapping his forehead with 
his fingers]. Not hittin' on all six, I guess, that's 
her trouble. 

Mr. Monroe [casting a side look at Talbert]. 
Humph! Very likely — very likely! Well, it's a 
nice outfit — this you've introduced to St. Stephen's, 
Talbert! Yes, a nice outfit. 

[88] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Talbert. Good Lord! How could a man 
know that old Storm's estate would pan out as it 
did? 

Mr. Monroe [getting up, and walking up and 
down], A nice mess we're in — a nice mess all 
around — giving young Brent the Assistant Pro- 
fessorship, too. 

Dr. Talbert [getting up also}- But didn't you 
say that he'd resigned? That you received a letter 
from him this morning? 

Mr. Monroe [suppressing a smile']- Yes [then 
drawing a letter from his pocket and holding it out to 
Dr. Talbert]. Here, — you'd better read it. 

Dr. Talbert [taking the letter and reading aloud], 
"Dear Sir: — Since I believe I can give better service 
to the poor people by being their friend instead of 
yours, I hereby resign from the position of Assistant 
Professor, lately conferred upon me by your Board." 
[Looking up and handing letter back.] Bah! Soft 
rot! I'm glad he's out — but there's one thing — 
he's not the kind to give us further trouble. That's 
fortunate. 

Mr. Monroe [pushing the letter back to Dr. Tal- 
bert, and keeping a steady face]. Here — there's 
more of the soft stuff you've missed — on the other 
half of the sheet. 

[Dr. Talbert, as if to humor him, takes the letter 
again and reads on in silence, while Mr. Monroe 
watches his face change expression as he first flushes, 
then pales — finally crushing the letter in his hands.] 

Mr. Monroe [taking letter from him]. Did you 
get as far as this, Talbert? [smoothing it out and 
reading aloud] "And since I have evidence of the 
manner in which Dr. Talbert attempted to remove 

[8 9 ] 



HELPING THE RICH 

me, so that he could use his influence to advance his 
brother without further hindrance, I prefer to sever 
my relations with the staff in order that I may better 
give my attention to bringing his action to public 
notice and its proper punishment. 

Dr. Talbert [_white with rage}. Punishment! 
What insolence! 

Mr. Monroe. A bit awkward, Talbert, eh? 

Dr. Talbert [still hot]. We'll have him put out 
of the County Society. Then who'll listen to him? 
Ha, ha! 

Mr. Monroe. We? 

Dr. Talbert. Certainly, the Medical Board of 
St. Stephen's. 

Mr. Monroe. I'm not so sure that will be the 
policy I shall care to have the hospital adopt. 

Dr. Talbert [taken aback}. You mean you'll 
not stand behind me? 

Mr. Monroe. Just so, Talbert. Yes, just so. 

Dr. Talbert [sarcastically}. Perhaps you don't 
realize the importance, in a business way, charity 
is to a man in your position. 

Mr. Monroe. Perhaps not, Talbert, perhaps not. 

Dr. Talbert [coming closer and in a lower tone}. 
If it wasn't for Christianity and charity, some of the 
biggest business this country has ever seen couldn't 
have been pulled off. [Then in a confidential man- 
ner^] It's fortunate for some of you rich men that 
the public don't see that. 

Mr. Monroe. Humph, Talbert, it's fortunate 
for the public, that some rich men — decent rich 
men — are commencing to see it. 

Dr. Talbert. Well, I don't propose having my 
name dragged out before the town, if I can stop it. 

[90] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Mr. Monroe. Better if you'd thought of that 
before you brought chis young doctor's friend, Storm, 
into the affair of the hospital. 

Dr. Talbert. I can't see that the hospital's any 
worse off than it was before, for that. 

Mr. Monroe [raising his brows']' No worse off! 
Supose he should give an account of that meeting 
to the newspapers? 

Dr. Talbert. He? Not likely! 

Mr. Monroe. He's a writer — that's his busi- 
ness — and the papers would pay well for what he 
knows. 

Dr. Talbert. My God ! I never thought of that! 

Mr. Monroe. Well, Talbert, what I want to 
know is: have you thought of how you're going to 
get him off the Board ? 

Mrs. Monroe [sweeping in}. Am I to wait down 
in that motor all day? 

Mr. Monroe [annoyed by the interruption}. Yes, 
my dear, yes, — ah — ah — that is — until we have 
finished our business here. 

Mrs. Monroe. Haven't you seen him yet? 

Mr. Monroe. Not yet, not yet. 

Mrs. Monroe [turning to Dr. Talbert with fine 
sarcasm}. Well, Doctor, have you decided how he is 
to be relieved of his duties on the Board of Trustees? 

Dr. Talbert. We can't very well tell him that 
as he hasn't any money he's no use to the hospital, 
and without money, we'll have to close up — yet 
that's about the size of it. 

Mr. Monroe. Humph! Talbert, is that the 
best you can do ? 

Mrs. Monroe. Well, my husband and I know a 
very good reason why he should not be connected 

[91: 



HELPING THE RICH 

with St. Stephen's Hospital, or any other respectable 
institution. 

Mr. Monroe [astonished]. I, my dear? 

Mrs. Monroe [virtuously drawing herself up]. 
Certainly, William. Have you forgotten what 
happened on the occasion of our last visit here? 

Mr. Monroe. Eh, my dear, what was that? 

Mrs. Monroe [with outraged dignity as she points 
toward the sitting room door]. What sort of woman 
would it be that he would have to conceal in that 
room there, from you and me — his visitors? 

Mr. Monroe [turns his head away and puts his 
hand to his mouth to conceal a smile]. Of course, of 
course, my dear, — what sort of a woman could it 
have been? 

Mrs. Monroe [turning to Dr. Talbert]. You 
know that kind. 

Dr. Talbert [putting up his hands], I, madam, 
I am a physician. 

Mrs. Monroe [her nose in the air]. No, of 
course, you wouldn't know. William [turning to 
her husband], I mean to tell Mr. Storm that / will 
no longer be President of the Ladies' Auxiliary at 
the Hospital if he remains upon our Board of Trus- 
tees. The other ladies will resign also. 

Dr. Talbert. I don't think there would be any 
objection to that. 

[Mrs. Monroe, turns quickly to Dr. Talbert, 
as if to pierce him by a look — when the door of the 
sitting room is opened and Peter enters, closing the 
door behind him,] 

Peter [with surprise]. Didn't know that I had 
callers [Bowing.] Won't you sit down? 

Mr. Monroe [clears his throat]. 

[92] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Talbert [clears his throat], 

Mrs. Monroe [remains silent, but takes a step for- 
ward^]. 

Peter [looking off]. It's a beautiful day, isn't 
it? 

Mr. Monroe. I ah I 

Dr. Talbert [taking a step or two forward]. 
Yes, exactly. 

Mrs. Monroe [drawing herself up]. The truth 
is, Mr. Storm, that when my husband arid Dr. 
Talbert asked you to take part in the Christian work 
which we are all trying so faithfully to follow at 
St. Stephen's, we had no doubts as to the moral side 
of your character. 

Mr. Monroe [assuming great dignity]. Precisely. 
Precisely. 

Peter [politely, to Mrs. Monroe]. Almost any 
one in these days ought to be grateful for that 
consideration. 

Mrs. Monroe [ignoring his reply], I do not 
know, Mr. Storm, whether it is a constant practice 
of yours to have young women visiting your rooms; 
but the other day, when we called, you had hidden 
in that room [pointing to sitting room] a young woman 
whom you were most anxious should not be seen. 

Peter. Well, not at that moment. 

Mrs. Monroe. Ah, I thought so! Then you 
admit it? Well, all I have to say is that no respect- 
able woman [she is interrupted as the sitting room 
door is partly opened, and a voice calls] Where have 
you gone, Peter? 

[Then, after a moment's pause, as no answer comes, 
the door is pushed wide open, and Judith steps peering 
into the room. In the tense silence which ensues, it 

[93] 



HELPING THE RICH 

is hard to tell from the faces of Mrs. Monroe on the 
one side, or Judith on the other, as she stands by the 
door, upon whom consternation has laid the heavier 
hand.'} 

Dr. Talbert [breaking the silence, but not the 

tension]. Well, I'll be ! [Walks to the table 

and picks up a book.] 

[This is followed by another silence, during which 
Mrs. Monroe directs a look toward Peter.] 

Peter [politely, and not allowing the vestige of a 
smile to escape, as he inclines his head slightly], I am 
sorry, I am afraid your daughter's coming in just 
then interrupted something you especially wished 
to speak of. 

Mrs. Monroe [breaking out angrily, to Peter]. 
Was it — was it then my daughter's voice which I 
heard in that room? [Turning to her husband, 
without waiting for a reply.] William, have you 
nothing to say ? 

Mr. Monroe [pulling himself together]. Yes — 
yes, — my dear, of course. 

Mrs. Monroe. Then why don't you begin? 

Mr. Monroe. Judith, my dear, will you tell us 
what this means? 

Mrs. Monroe [pointing to Peter]. You had 
better ask him. 

Mr. Monroe. Yes, my dear, one moment — 
one moment. [Turning to Judith.] Can you tell 
us? 

Judith. If I had thought you would have been 
interested, Papa, I should have told you before — 
before I started to work. 

Mrs. Monroe. To work? 

Mr. Monroe. To work, — eh? Ah, I see! 

[94] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Judith. Why, yes, I had to have something to 
do — and Mr. Storm has given me a position as his 
secretary. 

Mrs. Monroe [severely}. And how long have 
you been coming here? 

Judith {counting on her fingers}. This is my third 
day. 

Mrs. Monroe [to Peter with cutting sarcasm}. 
Mr. Storm, when does a secretary customarily begin 
to call her employer by his first name ? 

Peter. I'm afraid in these days, it would be 
hard to get a satisfactory answer to that question, 
Mrs. Monroe. 

Mrs. Monroe [turning as if on a pivot toward 
Judith]. You had better get your hat and coat 
on now. Never mind about fixing your hair. 

QJudith, with some embarrassment, puts her hands 
up to her head."} 

Peter. With your permission, we will not finish 
work quite so early in the day as this. 

Mr. Monroe. Mr. Storm, the idea of my daughter 
working is absurd. Humph! Yes, quite so, quite so. 

Judith. If you and Mama don't mind my saying 
so, Papa, I think I will stay here — that is, if Mr. 
Storm wishes me to — if he needs me. 

Peter [with a smile to Judith]. Thank you. 

Mrs. Monroe [flushing angrily}. Mr. Storm, 
there seems to be some understanding between you 
and my daughter which it would be just as well for 
her father and me to be acquainted with. 

Peter. Yes, — I think so. 

Mr. Monroe. Eh! What's that? What's that? 

Mrs. Monroe. May I inquire how long you 
have known my daughter? 

C9S 3 



HELPING THE RICH 

Peter. Some years. 

Mrs. Monroe [in astonishment]. Some years? 

Judith [beginning to enjoy the situation]. Yes, 
Mama. We met on the steamer, going to Europe. 

Mrs. Monroe, You never said anything about 
this to me? 

Judith [sweetly]. I don't think I ever knew you 
well enough to speak of such things, Mama. 

Mrs. Monroe [losing her head a little]. Children 
of this generation, it seems to me, are born without 
any respect for their parents. 

Peter. And of every generation, for that matter, 
as respect is inspired, not inherited. 

Mrs. Monroe [drawing herself up], Mr. Storm, 
did you intend that to be a personal allusion. 

Peter [quietly]. Unfortunately, it is a law and 
not an allusion. 

Mrs. Monroe [trying on an air of finality]. 
Come, Judith, get on your things. 

Judith [drawing herself up], I intend to remain 
here, Mama. 

Mr. Monroe. Judith, perhaps you had better 
do as your mother — yes, yes, just so. 

Judith. I am sorry, Papa — but I, — I, 

Mrs. Monroe [angrily]. What hold has this 
man over you? 

Judith [with a twinkle], I think it is because he 
is so rich, Mama. 

Mrs. Monroe. Rich! You don't know what 
you are talking about, child! That's the same mis- 
take Dr. Talbert made when he got him into the 
hospital! Why, he hasn't any money — be isn't 
rich. 

Judith [shaking her head], I don't mean rich the 

[96] 



HELPING THE RICH 

way you mean it, Mama. I mean he is rich in 
character — not cash. 

Peter [to Judith]]. As soon as my new book is 
published, I shall certainly advance you to the 
position of press agent. 

Judith [with a smile}. You and Papa must each 
buy Mr. Storm's new book, which gives all the 
latest fads on how to make poor people profitable 
j through private charity. 

Peter. But it is bound to be a little delayed 
now, until the chapter on my present experience as 
a hospital trustee is finished. 

Dr. Talbert [forcing a laugh as he steps quickly 
forward^}. What's this — what's this? — some lit- 
erary joke, I suppose. 

Peter. That's it Doctor, exactly — but this 
time the joke won't be at the expense of the un- 
fortunate. 

[Mrs. Monroe and Dr. Talbert are doing their 
best to cover their perplexity when Mrs. Foster 
enters the room and addresses Peter.] 

Mrs. Foster. Mr. Peter, your friend Dr. Brent 
is here to see you — out in the hall. 

Peter. Ask him to come in. 

Mrs. Foster. In here? Not if you should see him. 

Peter. Why not ? 

Mrs. Foster. He's just covered [illustrating 
with a gesture"} from head to foot with dirt. A street 
accident, he said. 

Peter [starting for the door}. He's not hurt, 
Fossie? 

Mrs. Foster. Bless you! It wasn't him — it 
was some poor fellow he crawled in after, so as to 
help 'im out. 

[97] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Brent's Voice \Jrom the hall as Mrs. Foster goes 
out]. Say, Peter! Got a rake or vacuum cleaner 
or anything of that sort handy? I'm a sight. 

Peter [going to the door}. Hold on a minute, 
Bobby! I think I can find you something [then 
turning to those in the room}. Excuse me, just a 
moment, please. [He hurries across the room and 
through sitting room door.} 

Brent's Voice. Never mind! I've found a 
broom — I guess that will do! [A brushing and 
beating can be heard — then a pause.} Lord, Peter! 
Shall you ever forget that meeting at the hospital 
yesterday? [more beating} And their faces — 
when — they — saw — we — were friends ? [Vio- 
lent beating outside. Exchange of glances inside.} 
Did you see old Talbert's face go green? [Beating.} 
And our great surgeon — Oh ! Oh ! [More beat- 
ing.} I'll remember the look which came into his 
face to my dying day. [More beating, as Mr. 
Monroe and Dr. Talbert look at each other, and 
Peter returns with a brush in his hand. Then 
Brent's voice is heard coming closer.} I can tell 
you, Peter, after that little episode I've just had 
outside, coming in here is like descending into a 
peaceful and smiling valley. [With broom in hand, 
comes into the doorway !] 

Peter. Hello, Bobby! Come in. [Dead si- 
lence.} You know every one here, I think? [Turn- 
ing to Mrs. Monroe.] Mrs. Monroe, you know my 
friend, Dr. Brent? 

Mrs. Monroe [turning her back on Dr. Brent]. I 
have not that pleasure. 

Dr. Brent [leaning on broom}. We — cr — Good 
morning. 

L98] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Mr. Monroe [suppressing a smile and making 
ready to go}. I think we will leave Dr. Talbert here 
with you, Mr. Storm, — he will be able to explain 
our little errand to you. Ah, quite so, quite so. 

Mrs. Monroe. And I wish to say, that I propose 
to have my daughter discontinue this partnership. 

Peter [stepping forward}. And I have proposed 
to her — to continue it indefinitely. 

Judith. And I — [she gives a little laugh"}. 

Mrs. Monroe [to Peter], You're not serious? 

Peter. Not often, — but this time I am. 

Mrs. Monroe. But how can you ever give my 
daughter what we have given her? 

Peter. Heaven forbid that I should! [then after 
a moment} But, of course I shouldn't urge any one 
to give up their parents too lightly, for I — 

Judith [breaking in}. Oh, it was dreadful! I 
have seen their pictures, and they had such wonder- 
ful faces — so hopeful and so happy. Peter was 
standing between them — he was only about so 
[holding her hand out as she stoops over} high. [Then, 
looking at Peter and laughing.} What a funny little 
fellow you were. 

Mrs. Monroe. Accident? 

Peter [walking slowly toward the window, as if to 
get away from the memory}. N-o, — Incident. 
[Looking out of the window.} 

Judith. It was something they do in business 
that was the beginning of it — Oh, I can't explain 
it just exactly — it's like a big bully in school who 
just uses his strength to satisfy his greed — any 
way, they just used their money, and the power it 
gave them, to drive him out of business, so that they 
could get it. That's how he lost everything. 

[99] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Dr. Talbert. That don't kill people. 

Judith. After that he was so discouraged he be- 
came ill — desperately ill — with a bad fever. 

Dr. Talbert. Ah! there's where our charity 
hospitals are useful. 

Judith. He wouldn't go to the hospital. 

Dr. Talbert. Wouldn't go to the hospital? 

Judith. No, he wouldn't go and accept help from 
the man who took away all he had, and who had 
built the hospital out of the profits he got that way — 
and it was this man who really killed Peter's father — 
indeed it was — and caused his mother's death, too. 

Mrs. Monroe. Judith, my dear, we can't blame 
any one man, or call him names, for things of that 
sort, — it's simply a part of our social and business 
system. 

Dr. Brent {vehemently']. If that happened to 
me, I think I'd like to connect up with the gentleman 
who ran that particular social and business system. 

Judith [to Peter]. Do you know the name of 
the man? 

Peter. No. I would rather not know — for I 
have often thought that if he were still alive and I 
should meet him face to face [passing his hand over 
his forehea(T\. No, no ! I should rather never know. 

[Mrs. Foster comes in with an expression of 
triumph on her face and crosses the room to Peter, 
holding a newspaper, yellow with age, in her hand, 
which she presses into his hands, whispering something 
at the same time.] 

Peter. Yes, yes — later I'll read it if it would 
please you, Fossie. Pm busy now. 

Mrs. Foster [in an excited whisper]. I've been 
huntin' it all mornin'. I knew I had it somewhere. 

[ioo] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Peter. Very well, Fll read it later — but you 
mustn't disturb me now. 

Mrs. Foster. But it's important, Mr. Peter! 
Look at it! 

Peter [looking at the date]. Why, it's dated 
twenty-three — twenty-four — twenty-five years 
ago. I guess there can't be any great hurry about 
news that old. 

Mrs. Foster [her hand trembling, as she points 
excitedly toward Mr. Monroe]. But it's about 
him! 

Peter. Very likely, Fossie. Mr. Monroe has 
been very prominent for years. 

Mrs. Foster. I knew this mornin', when I got 
a good look at him — I knew it was him. 

Mr. Monroe [moving closer and putting on his 
glasses']. Humph! What's this — let me see 
[moving as if to take the paper], 

Mrs. Foster [grasping the paper quickly, and 
holding it behind her]. No, sir! It's for Mr. Peter 
to read I brought it. 

Judith. It's something about Papa? [holding 
out her hand,] May I read it, Mrs. Foster? 

Mrs. Foster [hesitates a moment, then hands the 
paper to Judith]. Yes, you can read it, Miss. 
Read it out loud, so Mr. Peter can hear it — can 
hear every word of it. [She steps between Judith 
and Mr. Monroe, to avoid any danger of losing the 
paper,] 

Judith [goes where she can get the light from the 
window]. Oh, it was printed before I was born [as 
she looks at the date], 

Mrs. Foster [stepping up to her and pointing]. 
There it is — read that. 



HELPING THE RICH 

Judith [indicating the first column}. Is this it — 
here? 

Mrs. Foster [peering over the paper]. Yes, that's 
it, Miss. Read there. 

Judith [reading], another trust victim. 
Leonard Storm, one of our leading citizens, dies in 
poverty. Our readers will be reminded of Mr. 
Storm's business collapse a few months ago, after 
his brief but brave fight to withstand the powerful 
pressure when the screws were applied by the 
Monroe Trust, of which Mr. W. T. Monroe, the 
noted philanthropist, is the President, — [breaking 
off and looking away in the distance]. Oh, oh ! And 
that is the way we became so rich! [Sinking down 
in a near-by chair, and burying her face in her hands.] 

Peter [stepping up to Mr. Monroe, speaks slowly 

and distinctly]. So you are the man! At last 

we do come face to face! [The others seem to stiffen 
with anxious tensity as Peter, staring into the marCs 
face, pauses — ] 

Judith [suddenly running forward]. Peter! 
Peter! 

Peter [seemingly deaf, goes on slowly to Mr. 
Monroe], You little thought to meet Leonard 
Storm's son? 

Mr. Monroe [adjusting himself a little after this 
sudden turn of events]. Ah, oh, Humph ! Can't say 
that I have been expecting it. 

Peter. And what have you to say? 

Mr. Monroe. Ah, humph! yes, just so — what 
have I to say? Ah, just so. 

Peter [exasperated]. The report is plain. 

Mr. Monroe. Yes, it is plain, very. I recollect 
it. Humph ! 

[102] 



HELPING THE RICH 

Peter. And perhaps recollect your name and 
place in it ? 

Mr. Monroe. Eh, eh? My name. What's that? 

Peter. Your name. 

Mr. Monroe. No, not my name — my name. 
Ah, just so, just so. 

Peter [almost shouting]- Not your name ? W. T. 
Monroe! 

Mr. Monroe. Unfortunate, that, — yes, very. 
Often confused that way before he died. Just so, — 
humph! His name was Walter. 

Mrs. Monroe [stepping up]. Your cousin 
Walter! Was that your cousin Walter? 

Mr. Monroe. Humph! Yes, yes, my dear. 

Mrs. Monroe. The one they always said looked 
like you ? 

[[Peter looks with amazement from one to the other \ 
while Dr. Talbert, Dr. Brent and Judith shift 
their positions with their increasing interest.] 

Mr. Monroe. Humph! Yes, that was Walter. 

Mrs. Monroe. I remember. The one you al- 
ways said was a scalawag. 

Mr. Monroe. Eh, yes. Tush, my dear, tush. 
We don't need to make that public. 

Peter [with some surprise^ addressing Mr. Mon- 
roe]. Then it was not you? 

Mr. Monroe. Committed a good many offenses 
in my day — guess I'm far from perfect yet 

Judith. Oh, I am so glad! So glad! 

Mr. Monroe [looking at her]. Eh, what's that 

my dear, — what's that? was saying — guess 

I ain't perfect yet, but, humph! but always tried to 
play fair accordin' to my lights, — yes, just so, 
just so. 

[103] 



/ 



HELPING THE RICH 

Peter [turning to Mrs. Foster]. Fossie, I 
guess you can burn that old paper [then turning to 
Mr. Monroe, as Mrs. Foster leaves}. I'm sorry 
about this, very sorry. And I offer you my apology, 
sir. 

Mr. Monroe [putting out his hand, which Peter 
quickly takes, grunts']. If you've got any more old 
papers, file 'em away in the same fire. Humph! 
Guess you won't hurt Walter's feelin's; he's used to 
fire by now. 

Peter. You've taken our mistake very kindly. 

Mr. Monroe. Humph! Only one I've seen 
you make yet, and I've been watchin' you pretty 
carefully ever since the other day [suppressing a 
smile] when I heard our daughter's voice comin' 
out of that room. 

Mrs. Monroe Oh! William! And you never 
Oh, oh! 

Judith. Papa! 

Dr. Brent [chuckling]. He, he! 

Mrs. Monroe [to her husband]. And how can 
you overlook the scandalous way he has treated our 
charity. 

Mr. Monroe [to Peter]. Truth is, young man, 
it was this cousin Walter, who got me into the 
habit of all the charity business. Left his money for 
me to run a hospital. Thought he could get into 
heaven, maybe, — humph! Maybe; if he left his 
money that way. 

Dr. Talbert [coming forward]. But think, sir, 
think what great assistance you have been to 
Science [pronouncing the word with reverence]. 

Mr. Monroe. Bosh, Talbert! Bosh! If 
science's any good, it don't need a fertilizer any 

[104] 



HELPING THE RICH 

more than medicine. Humph ! You ought to know 
that, Talbert. We don't want hot-house scientific 
facts; we want cold scientific facts. 

Judith [animated}. Oh, Papa! That sounds 
just like Peter. 

Mr. Monroe. Does it, my dear, does it? You 
mean I'm not an old fool, eh ? 

Dr. Talbert [coming in again}. But, — but, 
Mr. Monroe, we must take care of the poor. 

Mr. Monroe. Bah, Talbert! The poor are 
better able to take care of 'emselves than you or I, 
if you give 'em a chance and don't make slaves of 
'em and don't squeeze 'em into factories, and 
foundries and foul tenements. Humph! 

Judith [jumping with glee}. Peter's very words! 

Mr. Monroe [turning to Judith]. Eh, my dear, 
eh? Peter's words, my dear? Then, you should'nt 
leave 'em in that typewriter of yours, at home, my 
dear. 

Judith [frowning]. The manuscript! Oh, how 
careless! 

Mr. Monroe. No harm, my dear, no harm. 
Been my private opinion for sometime; but lately, 
yes, very lately [glancing at Talbert], that opinion 
has been endorsed, humph! quite so, quite so! 

Dr. Talbert [once more}. Mr. Monroe, you 
seem to agree with Mr. Storm so well, that our 
charity system is no real use. How about your 
wife's case? 

Mr. Monroe. Eh, Talbert, what's that? 

Dr. Talbert. And the case of Mrs. Hopkins, 
and of Mrs. Tracy Lawrence? 

Mr. Monroe [getting the drift}. Eh? 

Dr. Talbert. So nervous and balky their 

[105] 



HELPING THE RICH 

husbands could hardly live with 'em, and I [drawing 
himself up and slapping his expanded chest}, I cured 
'em and made 'em fit to live with again, by getting 
'em to go into charity work. 

Mr. Monroe [holding up his hand}. Ah, there 
Talbert. There you have done a really great work, 
Talbert, I must repeat it, you are a remarkable 
man. Humph! Yes, quite remarkable. 

Mrs. Monroe [almost shrieking'}. William!! 

Mr. Monroe. And as Mr. Storm here hasn't any 
money [looking at Peter and giving a wink}, think 
we'll have to shut St. Stephen's up — yes, shut it 
up, and give the city the job that should belong to 
it. 

Mrs. Monroe [appealing to Dr. Talbert]. Oh, 
Doctor! What shall I do then? What shall I do 
then? 

Dr. Talbert [losing control a little, snaps']. 
Try Cleaver — maybe your appendix should be 
cut out. 

Mrs. Monroe [losing ground}. Oh-o! Oh-o! 

Dr. Talbert [with a hard laugh}. Or Dr. 
Barker — try him. He prescribes poodle dogs 
[as he stalks out of the room} for nervous women with 
nothing to do, and who can't get charity work. 

Mrs. Monroe [as she sinks into a chair, and very 
much like a suddenly punctured tire emits a long} 
W-h-e-e-e. 

Dr. Brent [starting toward the door after Dr. 
Talbert]. Hadn't I better see him to his car, 
Peter? 

Peter [as Brent goes out}. And if necessary, 
Bobby, give it a push. 

Mr. Monroe [after a moment's pause, looks gravely 

[106: 



HELPING THE RICH 

smiling at Judith, then at Peter, and again at 
Judith]]. Humph! Inclined to think, my dear, 
you haven't made such a v-e-r-y bad choice. 

Judith [who looks happily at a not indifferent 
Peter]. Oh, but what will Mama say? 

Mr. Monroe. Now we've got rid of that doctor, 
my dear, your mother, I think, will say what I say — 
[emphatically] yes, quite so, quite so. 

Mrs. Monroe [raising her head and looking at her 
husband meekly']' What is it, William ? 

Mr. Monroe [going to Mrs. Monroe and leading 
her by the hand toward the door]. That you will agree 
with me, my dear, Judith should be left now to 
complete her work. 

Mrs. Monroe [submissively and with a somewhat 
bewildered look in the direction of Judith and Peter, 
as she is led through the door}. Of course, William, 
if you think best, 

Peter [slowly shaking his head and with a funny 
sidewise look at the beaming Judith]. Your father 
doesn't know, I guess, how thoroughly you have 
completed your work. 

Judith [as she somehow gets very closely encircled 
by a pair of arms which seem to be near by, exclaims 
laughing] Oh, Peter; This is what I call a 
working girl's triumph! 



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